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PURCHASED  FOR  THE 

University  of  Toronto  Library 

FROM  THE 

Shoshana  and  Milton  Shier  Fund 

FOR  THE  SUPPORT  OF 

Jewish  Studies 


SONGS   FROM   THE   GHETTO 


SONGS 
FROM  THE  GHETTO 

MORRIS   ROSENFELD 


With  Prose  Translation,  Glossary,  and  Introduction. 

By  LEO  WIENER,  Instructor  in  the  Slavic 

Languages  at  Harvard  University 


BOSTON 
COPELAND   AND   DAY 

1898 


-pj 


COPYRIGHT,    1898,   BY    COPELAND    AND    DAY 


INTRODUCTION 


YIDDISH,  or  Judeo-German,  is  a  group  of  dialects 
spoken  by  the  Jews  of  German  origin  in  Russia, 
Austria,  and  Roumania.  Originally  not  differing  from 
the  local  dialects  of  the  Middle  Rhine,  it  has  incor- 
porated in  the  diaspora  a  large  number  of  Slavic  and 
Hebrew  words  so  as  to  become  unintelligible  to  the 
average  German  reader.  To  neutralize  this  diffi- 
culty to  a  certain  extent,  Mr.  Rosenfeld's  language, 
which  belongs  to  the  Lithuanian  variety  of  Judeo- 
German,  has  been  presented  in  this  book  as  far  as 
practicable  in  the  orthography  of  the  literary  German. 
The  apparent  discrepancy  in  the  rhymes  thus  pro- 
duced will  disappear  if  the  following  is  observed  :  — 

The  consonants  have  all  their  German  values,  and 
I  is  like  French/.  The  vowels  are  nearly  all  short,  so 
that  u,  ie,  i  are  equal  to  German  //  similarly  <z,  0,  eh, 
ee  are  like  G.  short  e.  The  G.  long  e  is  represented 
by  e,  oey  and  in  Slavic  and  Hebrew  words  also  by  ee. 
Ei  and  eu  are  pronounced  like  G.  ei  in  mein,  while  ei 
is  equal  to  G.  ee  ;  a  and  o  are  G.  short  o;  au  sounds 
more  like  G.  ou,  and  au  and  o  resemble  G.  oi.  The 
Slavic  and  Hebrew  words  are  spelled  phonetically, 
and  the  latter  differ  consequently  from  the  transliter- 
ated forms  in  scientific  works. 


The  Judeo-German  literature  had  its  beginnings  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  but  previous  to  our  own  times 
it  has  produced  nothing  noteworthy  from  a  literary 
standpoint.  Since  the  fifties  the  Russian  Jews  have 
developed  a  great  activity,  and  there  has  arisen  a 
long  series  of  folk-poetry,  ranging  from  the  mere 
rhyming  of  the  wedding- jesters  to  the  elaborate  pro- 
ductions of  Frug,  who  has  also  made  a  name  in 
Russian  literature.  This  poetry  has,  however,  re- 
ceived its  highest  perfection  in  America  by  the  con- 
summate art  of  Mr.  Morris  Rosenfeld. 

Mr.  Rosenfeld  was  born  in  1862  in  a  small  town 
in  Poland,  where  his  ancestors  had  been  fishermen. 
He  has  received  no  other  education  than  that  which 
is  allotted  to  all  Jewish  boys  of  humble  origin.  While 
well  read  in  German  and  English  literature,  he 
masters  only  his  native  Yiddish.  He  went  early  to 
England,  to  avoid  military  service,  and  there  learned 
the  tailor's  trade.  Thence  he  proceeded  to  Holland 
where  he  tried  himself  at  diamond  grinding.  He 
very  soon  after  came  to  America,  where  for  many 
weary  years  he  has  eked  out  an  existence  in  the 
sweat-shops  of  New  York.  It  is  there  he  has  learned 
to  sing  of  misery  and  oppression.  His  health  gave 
out,  and  he  had  to  abandon  the  shop  for  the  pre- 
carious occupation  of  a  Yiddish  penny-a-liner.  In 
the  meantime  he  has  developed  Judeo-German  ver- 
sification to  unknown  proportions.  Of  the  merits  of 
his  poetry  let  the  reader  judge  himself. 

L.   W. 


vi 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 
INTRODUCTION    .  v 


SONGS   OF   LABOR 

3n  Sd?ap.    In  the  Sweat-Shop 2 

Der  blether  2Jpreter.    The  Pale  Operator 6 

21  Cratjr  anf  'n  €tfen.    A  Tear  on  the  Iron      ....  8 

irtetn  3ftngele.    My  Boy 10 

Dar3tt>eifhmg.    Despair 14 

Die  Kale  run  Me  3erg.    The  Mountain  Bride  ....  16 

Da§  arcme  (Seftnb  !    The  Beggar  Family 20 

IDuhm?    Whither? 26 

Die  Zlacbttgall  3um  2Irbetter.    The  Nightingale  to  the 

Laborer 28 

IDas  tf  bte  IDelt  ?     What  is  the  World  ? 30 

2Illf  'tt  Cotengarten.     In  the  Garden  of  the  Dead      .    .  32 


NATIONAL   SONGS 

Sftre.     Sephirah 42 

^elbmeften.    The  Measuring  of  the  Graves 46 

Ktbefd7=£eroone.     The  Moon-Prayer 48 

Die  erfie  dtptle.    The  First  Bath  of  Ablution    ....  52 

Der  IHamfer.    The  Bastard 56 

vii 


PAGE 

Der  jfibifd)er  mat.    The  Jewish  May 58 

Der  jiibifd?er  Solbat.    The  Jewish  Soldier 66 

2luf  'n  Bnfem  tmn  3<*nt.  On  the  Bosom  of  the  Ocean  .      70 
Die  £id?t»ar!auferin.    The  Candle-Seller 76 


MISCELLANEOUS 

Dcr  BeffoIentsSfoIoroei.    The  Cemetery-Nightingale  .    .  86 

gu  Me  Slltmen  in  l^erbfi.   To  the  Flowers  in  Autumn    .  88 

Die  ^retfyeit.    Liberty 90 

Der  Kanarif.    The  Canary 94 

gu  bte  IDeltparfcfylittcjer.    To  the  Fortune-Hunters    .    .  94 

<EItlI=meIobten.     September  Melodies 96 

UTaiffe^B'reefd^is.    Creation  of  Man 100 

3"  &er  ITTibber.    In  the  Wilderness 104 


GLOSSARY 109 


viii 


SONGS   OF    LABOR 


raufdjen  in  (Sdjap  afo  nrilt  tie 

oftmal  sargeff  id)  in  SRaufd),  as  idj  bin ;  — 
n?er'  in  tern  fdjrerflidjen  Xnmmel  sarloren, 

3d)  n?ert  tort  botel,  idj  »er'  a 
arbeif,  un'  arbeif,  un'  arbeif,  o^n' 


Un'  far  roemen  ?  3d)  foeij?  nit,  id)  frag'  nit, — 
2Bie  fummt  a  9ftafd)ine  gu  tenfen  a  Sftal  ?  *  *  * 

9W  ta  fein  ©efuljl,  fetn  ©ebanf,  Kin  SSarjlant  gar ;  — 
Die  bittere,  bhttige  Arbeit  terfd)Iagt 
)ad  Steljle,  @d)6npe  un'  S3ejie,  tag  S^eic^jle, 
tag  v^^fie,  tt>ag  Seben  tjarmogt* 
(Eg  fd)minten  ©efnnten,  SO^innten  nn'  ©tnnten, 
©ar  fegelfcfynelf  Idufen  tie  ^ac^f  mit  tie  Jag' ;  — 
3d)  treib'  tie  9ftafc()itt',  gleid^  i^  nrifl  fee  terjagen,  — 
34  jag'  ofyn'  a  ©fee^el,  i^  lag'  ofyn'  a  33reg» 

X)er  (Saeger  in  SBorffc^ap,  er  ru^t  nit  aftle, 
Sr  meifl  aflg,  nn'  ttappt  aflg,  nn'  mecft  nadjanant ;  — 
(9efagt  l>at  a  SSftenfdj  mir  a  5Rat  tie  33eteutung : 
(Setn  SBeifen  nn'  SBerfen,  tort  liegt  a  23arftant ; 
57or  etn?ag  getenft  f!d)  mir,  pnnft  tvie  »un  Sfyolem ;  — 
T)er  ©aeger,  er  mecft  in  mir  Ceben  nn'  (Sinn, 
Un'  no4  eppeg,  —  tdj  ^ab'  ttargeffen,  —  nit  fragt  eg ! 
"  nit,  idj  toetg  nit,  i^  bin  a  Sftafdfyin' !  »  *  . 


In  the  Sweat-Shop 

THE  machines  in  the  shop  roar  so  wildly  that 
often  I  forget  in  the  roar  that  I  am;  I  am 
lost  in  the  terrible  tumult,  my  ego  disappears,  I 
am  a  machine.  I  work,  and  work,  and  work  with- 
out end ;  I  am  busy,  and  busy,  and  busy  at  all  time. 
For  what  ?  and  for  whom  ?  I  know  not,  I  ask  not ! 
How  should  a  machine  ever  come  to  think? 

There  are  no  feelings,  no  thoughts,  no  reason ; 
the  bitter,  bloody  work  kills  the  noblest,  the  most 
beautiful  and  best,  the  richest,  the  deepest,  the 
highest,  which  life  possesses.  The  seconds,  min- 
utes and  hours  fly ;  the  nights,  like  the  days,  pass 
as  swiftly  as  sails ;  —  I  drive  the  machine  just  as  if 
I  wished  to  catch  them :  I  chase  without  avail,  I 
chase  without  end. 

The  clock  in  the  workshop  does  not  rest ;  it  keeps 
on  pointing,  and  ticking,  and  waking  in  succession. 
A  man  once  told  me  the  meaning  of  its  pointing 
and  waking,  —  that  there  was  a  reason  in  it ;  as 
if  through  a  dream  I  remember  it  all :  the  clock 
awakens  life  and  sense  in  me,  and  something  else, 
—  I  forget  what ;  ask  me  not !  I  know  not,  I  know 
not,  I  am  a  machine  ! 

3 


Un'  geitenwets,  roenn  tdj  ber^bY  fdjon  tern  Jaeger, 

tdj  gang  anberfdj  fein  2Betfen,  fein  (Sprad)'  ; 
ba$t,  as  e$  nufet  mtdj  borten  tier  Umruty', 
'dj  fott  arbetten,  arbeiten  met)rer  aftad)  ! 
3$  $&Y  in  fein  Son  nor  bent  Soft's  feflben  23oefer, 
(5ein  ftnflern  ^ndf  in  bie  SBeifer  bie  gtoet  ;  — 
Der  @aeger,  mir  ffruc^et,  mir  bac^t,  as  er  treibt  mic^ 
Un'ruftmtc^:  ,,9ttaf$ine!"  un'f^reitsumtr:  . 


bann,  »enn  's  if  (litter  ber  nrifber  ©etummel, 

if  ber  9ttefjler  in  ^ittagjeitpunb', 
D,  bann  tjebt  in  ^opp  Bei  mir  gleicfy  an  git  tagen, 
3n  £erjen  311  jie^en,  —  i(^  fitfjP  bann  metn  SBttnV  ; 
Un'  bittere  Jra^ren,  un'  fttbige  Jra^ren 
S3ene^en  mein  mageren  Sftittag,  mein  33rot,  — 
Ss  wergt  mtc^,  ify  fann  nit  mefyr  eften,  ic^  lann  nit! 
D,  f^red  U(%e  ^)raje  !  D,  bittere 


'S  erfdjeint  mir  bie  (Sc^ap  in  ber  Sftittagjeitjhmbe 
21  blutige  ©c^Ia^tfetb,  wenn  bort  »erb  geru^t  : 
Slrum  un'  arum  fe^  t^  liegen  J^arugim, 
@S  laremt  »un  b'r  Srb'  bas  »argoftene  93lttt»  ,  » 
Sin  SBetle,  tin'  balb  merb  gepattft  a  Srerooge, 
!Die  Xote  erroaAen,  es  lebt  auf  bie  @^(ac^t, 
Ss  fampfen  bie  JrnpeS  far  ^rembe,  far  grembe, 
Un'  (Ireiten,  ttn;  fatten,  un'  (In!en  in 


fn<f  auf  bent  ^ampfpla^  mtt  bttteren 
f,  mit  ftetome,  mit  ^ettifc^er  5) 

e^t  ^6r'  i(^  i^m  ri^tig,  er  toecft  eS  : 
„%  @fof  ju  bte  ^ne^tfcbaft,  a  @fof  fott  eS  fetn  I" 
Sr  muntert  in  mir  mein  25arftonb,  bie  ®efufyfett, 
Un'  wcifl,  tute  e3  laufen  bie  ©tunben  abin  : 
2ln  Stenber  bteib'  icb,  tote  tang  id)  wett  f^weigen, 
SSarloren,  n?te  lang  ic^  ^arbteib^  raaS  it^  bin*  »  * 
4 


And,  at  times,  when  I  hear  the  clock,  I  under- 
stand quite  differently  its  pointing,  its  language ;  — 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  Unrest  (pendulum)  egged 
me  on  that  I  should  work  more,  more,  much  more. 
In  its  sound  I  hear  only  the  angry  words  of  the 
boss ;  in  the  two  hands  I  see  his  gloomy  look.  The 
clock,  I  shudder,  —  it  seems  to  me  it  drives  me  and 
calls  me  "Machine,"  and  cries  out  to  me  :  "Sew  !" 

Only  when  the  wild  tumult  subsides,  and  the 
master  is  away  for  the  midday  hour,  day  begins  to 
dawn  in  my  head,  and  a  pain  passes  through  my 
heart ;  I  feel  my  wound,  and  bitter  tears,  and  boil- 
ing tears  wet  my  meagre  meal,  my  bread :  it  chokes 
me,  I  can  eat  no  more,  I  cannot !  O  horrible  toil ! 

0  bitter  necessity ! 

The  shop  at  the  midday  hour  appears  to  me  like 
a  bloody  battlefield  where  all  are  at  rest:  about 
me  I  see  lying  the  dead,  and  the  blood  that  has 
been  spilled  cries  from  the  earth.  ...  A  minute 
latter  —  the  tocsin  is  sounded,  the  dead  arise,  the 
battle  is  renewed.  The  corpses  fight  for  strangers, 
for  strangers !  and  they  battle,  and  fall,  and  dis- 
appear into  night. 

I  look  at  the  battlefield  in  bitter  anger,  in  terror, 
with  a  feeling  of  revenge,  with  a  hellish  pain.  The 
clock,  now  I  hear  it  aright,  it  is  calling :  "  An  end  to 
slavery,  an  end  shall  it  be  ! "  It  vivifies  my  reason, 
my  feelings,  and  shows  how  the  hours  fly ;  miserable 

1  shall  be  as  long  as  I  am  silent,  lost  —  as  long  as 
I  remain  what  I  am.  .  .  . 

5 


£)er  2ftenf$,  wetter  fcpft  in  mir,  tje&t  an 

Der  £ne(H  wetter  n>a$t  in  mir,  fcfylaft  tort  ft*  ein ; 

Sljitttt)  if  We  ridjtige  ©tunbe  gelummen ! 

21  @fof  su  bem  ®fenb,  <*  @f°f  f°a  c*  feitt !  *  *  * 
ptu^Itng  —  ber  2Bi(fel,  ber  S5of«,  —  a  Xrewoge ! 
»er'  an  tern  ©fee^el,  »argeg',  nju  i^  bin,  — 
tummelt,  men  ISmpft,  o,  mein  3$  if  sarloren,— 
wet§  nit,  mid)  art  nit,  id)  Mn  a  ^afc^in' !  »  .  . 


2)ct  Blei^et  «|itei(t 


fe^  bort  a  btet^en  Sfyretet 

in  ber  Arbeit,  a  ©c&rerf! 
Un'  feit  ic^  gebenf  i^m,  att^  nae^t  er 
Un'  legt  feine  ^raften 


(£s  tveren  S^abof^tm  ijarflogen, 

g^  laufen  bie 

Un;  no<$  (l^t  ber 

Un'  lampft  mit  'n  ro|en 


;  Betrad^t  bort  fein  3 


un 

Un'  fii^F,  as  ba  arBeift  fein  ©wure, 
nor 


$)odj  fatten  bie  Xropfeng  fejfeeber, 
SSun  5lnfgang  bis  lintergang  fpat, 
Un'  fappen  jlc^  ein  in  bie  ^letber, 
Un'  trinfen  PC^  ein  in  bie 
6 


The  man  that  sleeps  in  me  begins  to  waken,  — 
the  slave  that  wakens  in  me  is  put  to  sleep.  Now 
the  right  hour  has  come  !  An  end  to  misery,  an 
end  let  it  be !  ...  But  suddenly  —  the  whistle, 
the  boss,  an  alarm !  I  lose  my  reason,  forget 
where  I  am ;  —  there  is  a  tumult,  they  battle,  oh, 
my  ego  is  lost !  —  I  know  not,  I  care  not,  I  am  a 
machine  !  . 


The  Pale  Operator 

I  SEE  there  a  pale  operator  all  absorbed  in  his 
work.    Ever  since  I  remember  him,  he  has  been 
sewing,  and  using  up  his  strength. 


Months  fly,  and  years  pass  away,  and  the  pale- 
faced  one  still  bends  over  his  work  and  struggles 
with  the  unfeeling  machine. 


I  stand  and  look  at  his  face :  his  face  is  be- 
smutted  and  covered  with  sweat.  I  feel  that  it  is 
not  bodily  strength  that  works  in  him  but  the 
incitement  of  the  spirit. 


And  the  tears  fall  in  succession  from  daybreak 
until  fall  of  night,  and  water  the  clothes,  and  enter 
into  the  seams. 

7 


3$  fcef  ettcfj,  ttrie  fang  wet  notf)  jagen 
£)er  <5$road)er  bent  blutigen  SRab  ? 
O,  t»er  tann  fein  (Snbe  mir  fagen  ? 
2Ber  weifj  ienem  fdjredttidjen  ©fob  ? 

D,  fdjwer,  fefjer  f(^n?er  ba^  ju  fagen, 
$0$  iin^  if  feettJit§t  un'  befc^eibt : 
SKenn  t^m  wet  tie  Arbeit 
@i^t  teefef  a 


31  Irafjr  auf  'n 


itn'  ftnjler  if  tie 
Jalf  tern  (Eifen,  fle^  un' 

wac^,  ic^  frays'  un'  ^uj 
faum  meiu  Iranfe  53ru(L 


3*  M$f  un'  ^ufF,  wn'  pref  «n;  War',— 
^etn  Slug'  n?erb  feucfct,  e^  faflt  a  Slra^r  ; 
£)er  @ifen  gtii^t  ;  —  ba3  Xra^rel  mein,  — 
n;  fWt  nit  ein» 


3*  ffiW  fetn  ^raft,  e«  tf; 
£)er  Sifen  faflt  mir  »un  bte 
Un'  boc^  ber  Xraljr,  ber  (Summer 
2)er  Srafyr,  ber  Sra^r  fo(|t  me^r  un' 

@5  rauf(%t  mein  tf  opp,  es  bred^t  ntein 
3*  frag'  mit  8Befc  i4  frag;  mit 
,,O,  jag',  mein  greimb  in  5^ot  un' 
D,  Xra^r,  far  foas  (feVjl  bit  nit  ein? 
8 


Pray,  how  long  will  the  weak  one  drive  the 
bloody  wheel  ?  Who  can  tell  me  his  end  ?  Who 
knows  the  terrible  secret? 


Hard,  very  hard  to  answer  that !  But  one  thing 
is  certain :  when  the  work  will  have  killed  him 
another  will  be  sitting  in  his  place  and  sewing. 


A  Tear  on  the  Iron 

OH,  cold  and  dark  is  the  shop !     I  hold  the 
iron,  stand  and  press ;  —  my  heart  is  weak,  I 
groan  and  cough,  —  my  sick  breast  scarcely  heaves. 


I  groan  and  cough,  and  press  and  think;  — 
my  eye  grows  damp,  a  tear  falls ;  the  iron  is  hot,  — 
my  little  tear,  it  seethes  and  seethes,  and  will  not 
dry  up. 


I  feel  no  strength,  it  is  all  used  up  ;  the  iron  falls 
from  my  hand,  and  yet  the  tear,  the  silent  tear,  the 
tear,  the  tear  boils  more  and  more. 


My  head  whirls,  my  heart  breaks,  I  ask  in  woe  : 
"  Oh,  tell  me,  my  friend  in  adversity  and  pain,  O 
tear,  why  do  you  not  dry  up  in  seething  ? 
9 


,,33tfl  effcfyer  gar  a  $imer, 
<5agfl  an  mir,  as  es  htmmen  metyr? 
3$  motif  e$  woflen  nriffen,  fag': 
SCenn  entugt  fldj  fcer  grower 


3$  tt)oW  gcfragt  nod^  ntel§r  im'  nte^r 
53efm  Umru^  bet  tent  nrilben 
2)5  fyaben  (Ic^  berlangt  a  ©og 
ra^ren,  Xra|rett  o^n'  a 

^  it^  ^ab'  fc^on  ijarjtatt'ett  g 

ttef  if  tto<$  t> 


pb'  a  Heincm  3itngele, 
(5it^nc(e  gar  fein  ! 
SCenn  i$  berfetj'  ijrn,  tat^t  (!$  rnir, 
£)te  gan^c  SCelt  if  mein* 


fetten,  fetten  fe^  ic^  i$m, 

(^oenem,  tt?enn  er 
treff^  i^m  immer  ftfylafenttg, 
e    im  nor  fcei 


Arbeit  treibt  mi$  rii^  arau« 


,  fremb  if  mir  metn  eigen  Seifc  I 
,  fremb  tnein  $int>'$  a  S3Ucf  ! 


'  juftemmtertyeit  a^etm, 


mir 

SMe  fein  t>a^  ^int)  PC^  fpfeft, 
10 


"  Are  you,  perhaps,  a  messenger,  and  announce  to 
me  that  other  tears  are  coming?  I  should  like  to 
know  it :  say,  when  will  the  great  woe  be  ended  ?  " 


I  should  have  asked  more  and  more  of  the  Un- 
rest, the  turbulent  tear ;  but  suddenly  there  began 
to  flow  more  tears,  tears  without  measure,  and  I  at 
once  understood  that  the  river  of  tears  is  very 
deep.  .  .  . 


My  Boy 


I  HAVE  a  little  boy,  a  fine  little  fellow  is  he  ! 
When  I  see  him,  it  appears  to  me  the  whole 
world  is  mine. 


Only  rarely,  rarely  I  see  him,  my  pretty  little  son, 
when  he  is  awake ;  I  find  him  always  asleep,  I  see 
him  only  at  night. 


My  work  drives  me  out  early  and  brings  me 
home  late ;  oh,  my  own  flesh  is  a  stranger  to  me  ! 
oh,  strange  to  me  the  glances  of  my  child  ! 


I  come  home  in  anguish  and  shrouded  in  dark- 
ness, —  my  pale  wife  tells  me  how  nicely  the  child 
plays, 

ii 


SBte  fug  eS  reb't,  toie  flug  e$  fragt; 
,,D,  Sftama,  gute  9fta, 
SBenn  fummt  un'  brcngt  a  $emt9  tnir 
3)cr  guter,  guter 


S«  ««'  eiF  —  e« 
a,  a,  c«  mu^  gef^etjn  ! 
Dte  SaterlteBe  fladert  auf  : 
(£3  mud  mein  ^tnt  mid)  fcfyn  ! 

34  (le^  Bet  fein  ©cla^ercl 


51  Srattnt  bewegt  bie 
frD,»tttF»  »ttif 


34  fuf4'  bie  btoe 
(See  offnen  (14  —  //£), 

fe^en  mi4,  fee  fe|ett 
'  f4Iiegen  P4 


,,T)a  (le^t  beitt  ^apa,  Seuerer, 
21  ^enntle  bir,  na  I11 
21  Xraum  Bewegt  bie 


34 


bit  ertua4(l  ci  5)^51,  meftt 
Il  bu  mi4  nit  meljr."  .  .  „ 


12 


How  sweetly  he  talks,  how  brightly  he  asks  :  "  O 
mother,  good  mother,  when  will  my  good,  good 
papa  come  and  bring  me  a  penny?" 


I  hear  it,  and  I  hasten :  it  must  be,  yes,  it  shall 
be  !  The  father's  love  flames  up :  my  child  must 
see  me ! 


I  stand  by  his  cradle,  and  see  and  listen,  and 
hush !  A  dream  moves  his  lips :  "  Oh,  where  is, 
where  is  papa?  " 


I  kiss  the  little  blue  eyes,  they  open :  "  O  child  !  " 
They  see  me,  they  see  me,  and  soon  close  up 
again. 


"  Here  stands  your  papa,  darling !  Here  is  a 
penny  for  you  !  "  A  dream  moves  the  little  lips  : 
"Oh,  where  is,  where  is  papa?" 


I  stand  in  pain  and  anguish,  and  bitterness,  and 
I  think :  "  When  you  awake  some  day,  my  child, 
you  will  find  me  no  more  ! "  .  .  . 


men  nit  rufyen  djotfdj  ein  £ag  in 
$  Sag  me$r  nit  frei  fein  ijun  fdjrerfltdjen 
25argejfen  tern  23ojf$  bem  sarMfienem 
<5ein  finftere  Sftiene,  fein  fcfyrerflidjen 
23argeffen  bem  @djap  un'  bent 
SSargeffen  tie  ^nec^tfc^aft,  ttargeffen  bent 
SSargeffen  [!$  nrifljt  bu  un'  ru^en  bergn  ? 
9ttt  forg'  flc^,  ot  balb  t»e(l  bu  ge^n  in  bein 


Ot  Balb  tyafcen  S3aumer  un'  53tumen 
Ot  enbigt  ber  SSoegel  ber  letter  fein  Sieb, 
Ot  16alb  if  23ejfolem3  arum  un;  arnm  ! 
O,  ttrie  ttjottf  i$  ttoflen  a  (S^ntetf  t^on  a  23Ium, 
51  pt)I  t^on,  c^otf^,  eber  e«  (iarbt  a^  bag  ®ra3, 
3luf  gelber  tegriinte  bent  SBintele'S  S3Ia^  !  — 
3n  getb  fein  ijartangjl  bit,  wn  luftig  un;  gritn  ? 
^ef  men  t»et  bi(^  ft^on  brengen  afyin  1 


Xeic^  if  bejtlfcert  un'  gtan^t  afo  fd&oen, 
£>ie  SBellen  Befpreit  mit  a  tjtmmlifc&en  S|een, 
O,  bort  jld)  ju  Baben  n?ie  gnt  mn£  e^  feinl 
2Bte  moUf  id)  mit  2u(l  in  bent  SBajfer  arein  ! 
SJJein  ©uf  if  mtn  f^redfli^e  Arbeit  uarf^mac^t, 
2Bie  njoHten  bie  S3aber  midj  frift^er  gemac^t  !  — 
O,  baben  f!$  miUji  bu,  ft$  tuaf^en  in 

t^,  men  met  bi$  arumn?af(^en 


2)ie  @d)»tfc*@d>ap  if  ftnfler  unj  rau^ig  un'  Hetn, 
O,  tt)te  foU  mein  SBIufe  bie  weige  fein  rein  ? 
3«  fd^mu^igen  <5d)ap  if  bie  JReinfeit  mir  fremb  ; 
2Bte  jiert  e$  a  ^lenf^en  a  flarwei^e  £emb  ! 
14 


Despair 

IS  it  not  allowed  to  rest  even  one  day  in  the 
week  and  to  be  at  least  one  day  free  from 
the  dreadful  yoke  ?  To  forget  the  angry  growl  of 
the  boss,  his  gloomy  mien,  his  terrible  look ;  to 
forget  the  shop  and  the  cries  of  the  foreman ;  to 
forget  slavery,  to  forget  woe  ?  —  You  wish  to  forget 
yourself  and  be  rested?  —  Never  mind,  you  will 
soon  go  to  your  rest ! 

Soon  the  trees  and  flowers  will  have  withered ; 
the  last  bird  is  already  ending  his  song;  soon  there 
will  be  cemeteries  all  around  !  Oh,  how  I  should 
like  to  smell  a  flower  and  feel,  before  the  grass  is 
dead,  the  breath  of  zephyr  in  the  green  fields  !  — 
You  wish  to  be  in  the  fields  where  it  is  airy  and 
green  ?  —  Never  mind,  you  will  be  carried  there 
soon  enough ! 

The  brook  is  silvery  and  glistens  beautifully ;  the 
waves  are  covered  with  a  heavenly  grace.  Oh,  how 
good  it  is  to  bathe  there !  How  I  should  enjoy 
leaping  into  it !  My  body  is  weakened  from  the 
dreadful  work,  —  how  the  bath  would  refresh  me  ! 
—  Oh,  you  wish  to  make  your  ablution  in  the 
brook  ?  —  Be  not  frightened,  you  will  soon  receive 
your  ablution ! 

The  sweat-shop  is  dark  and  smoky  and  small. 

How  can  my  white  blouse  be  clean  there?     In  the 

dirty  shop  cleanliness  is  unknown  to  me.     How  a 

pure,  white  shirt  adorns  a  man  !     How  proper  for 

15 


2Qie  pa§t  e3  a  nobeten  ©itf,  311  fein  fret, 

3u  arbetten  menfcfyltd)  un'  rein  fein  berbei  !  — 

ant^on  in  tt>ei§en  »arlangjl  bit  ajihtb  ? 

feet  bidj  fcfyon  anttyon  un'  ant^on  gefdjwinb  ! 


3n  SBatb  if  e3  Ittftig,  in 

2Bte  gut  if  e^  borten  $u  t^olemen  flifl  ! 

J)ie  2$oegela$  jlngen  met^ajebig  fein, 

Die  £oner  bie  fitge,  fee  fc^taferen  ein  ;  — 

3n  (Sc^ap  if  es  aber  a  0lauf(^  itn'  e^  (ltdft,  — 

£),  n?te  n?oUf  ber  SBalb  mt«^  getitfyU  un^  gequidt  !  - 

D,  fit^Ien  ft^  wittjl  bit  ?  2Ba$  taitg'  bir  a  SBalb  ? 

57it  tang  wet  e$  ne^men,  un'  bit  roejl  fein  fait  ! 


21  tfjeiteren  Gnawer  311  ^a6en  if  gitt,  — 
3n  9lot  gf  t  er  ^offnitng,  in  Slenbfeit 
21  ttyeuerer  S^awer  ^arfiijt  bir  bein  @ein, 
(Sr  gi't  bir  a  (£f)eefd)ef  in  Seben  arein  ;  — 
Un'  i(^  bin  ttarjoffemt  un?  ic^Jbtn  a  ©tein, 
97it  ba  fein  S^anjeertm,  bin  (Siner  aflein»  — 
SBefl  ^aben  (£fyatt>eerim  balb  gar  o^n'  a  (Sdj 
(See  roien  flt^  fdjon,  itn'  fee  marten  aitf  bir  ! 


2>ie  ^ak  bun  fate 


bie  Sltteg^an^berger 

*  a  0luine  ;  — 
Morten  liegt  an  eingefaU'ne, 
2l(te 


Un'  nit  wett  »nn  biefer 
Sinfam  un'  sarlafen, 
a  ©tiibele  a  ttetne 
en  tt)ilbe  ©rafen* 
16 


a  noble  body  it  is,  in  order  to  be  free,  to  work 
humanely  and  be  clean  withal !  — You  wish  now  to 
dress  yourself  in  white  ?  —  They  will  dress  you,  and 
dress  you  quickly  enough  ! 

The  woods  are  breezy,  hi  the  woods  it  is  cool. 
How  good  —  to  dream  there  quietly  !  The  little 
birds  sing  pleasantly;  but  in  the  shop  there  is  a 
noise,  and  the  air  is  suffocating.  —  Oh,  you  wish  to 
be  cool  ?  Of  what  avail  is  a  forest  to  you  ?  —  It 
will  not  be  long  before  you  will  be  cold. 

'T  is  good  to  have  a  dear  companion.  In  adver- 
sity he  gives  hope,  in  misery  —  courage.  A  dear 
companion  sweetens  your  being,  and  he  gives  you 
a  zest  for  life.  And  I  am  orphaned,  alone  like  a 
stone,  there  are  no  companions,  I  am  all  by  my- 
self. —  You  will  soon  have  companions  without 
end :  they  swarm  already,  and  are  waiting  for 
you ! 


The  Mountain  Bride 


UPON  the  Alleghany  mountains  is  to  be  seen  a 
ruin  :  —  there  lies  an  old,  caved-in  coal  mine. 


And  not  far  from  that  ruin,  lonely  and  deserted, 
stands  a  small  hut  among  wild  grasses. 


Shorten  pflegf  ter  alter  S3ergmann 
$4'  fcei  9t<u$t  geftn'en  ; 
Morten  pflegen  ©ufeen  fltngen, 
©title  Srafjren  rinnen. 


tie  nwjh  $olenmtne  — 
Sort  if  23Iut  geflojfen : 
Unten  liegt  ter  alter  Reiner 
mit  fein  Softer'*  S^ojfem 

Un'  fein  frumme,  fdjoene  Softer, 
2lcfj,  tt>a$  tann  fein  arger  ? 
SBantelt  mit  a  ©eifl  a  franfen 
5luf  tie  flumme  S3erger» 

Sinfam  Tebt  fie  swiften  (Stetner, 
£)^n^  a  Jrofl,  o^n;  >£>offen  5 
(Spat  oei  Wafyt  nor,  anf  ter  9ftine, 
SBert  fte  flttt  antfc^Iafen* 


n?ie  gt(^  fie  fdjtaft  nor  etn  bort, 

t>te  ^te^morim, 
Un;  i^r  Slate,  un'  i^r  S^offen 
Dffenen  tie 


Un'  mit  fee  tie  ©ra'Ber  atte, 
SlUemit^efangen  — 
Un'  nit  meit  tort  i?un  tern 
£ort  men  tumjjfe  ^langen* 


(Stumm  antf$tt>fea,en,  tt)ie  ter 

un'  blut^egojfen, 
in  3trem  fein  ©eliefcte 
£)er  sarfu^lter  S^ojfen* 
18 


There  the  old  miner  used  to  find  rest  at  night : 
there  sobs  were  heard  and  quiet  tears  flowed. 


But  the  desolated  coal  mine,  —  blood  has  flowed 
there:  underground  lies  the  old  miner  and  his 
daughter's  affianced. 


And  his  goodly,  beautiful  daughter — oh,  what 
can  be  worse  ?  —  wanders  with  unsound  mind  over 
the  silent  mountains. 


Alone  she  lives  among  the  rocks,  without  conso- 
lation, without  hope ;  only  late  at  night  she  softly 
falls  asleep  upon  the  ruin. 


And  as  soon  as  she  slumbers,  musicians  begin  to 
play,  and  her  father  and  her  affianced  open  up  the 
graves. 


And  with  it,  all  the  tombs  are  opened,  all  a-sing- 
ing,  —  and  not  far  away,  from  the  cloister,  muffled 
bells  are  rung. 


Silent  as  the  grave,  covered  with  black  gore,  the 
stark,  dead  body  of  the  affianced  takes  in  his  arm 
his  bride. 

'9 


©lei*  treft  $u  tier  alter  State, 
£)ur$g,efcrenttt  mit  SBunfcen, 
SBeint  un'  fcenfc&t  tie  Winter  feine, 
un'  tt>ert> 


£)a  ijarfhtmmen  tie  $Ie3morim 
aUe;  — 
un'  ^weit    e0  HeiBen 


nit 


?  fee  fcletfcen,  ttn^  fee  tan^en 
,  Reiner  Port  nit, 
a,Ft  a  2Bun!  »u 
Un'ber  eoen  mert)  nit 


£)a  fprtngt  auf  bem 
,,D,  tie  ^enfc^ 
Un^  »arfd)tt>tnt>et  auf  tie  Merger 
it  a  n?ilt>  ©ela^ter* 


oremc  ©effnb* 


(le^t  eitt  areme 

3n  Sort^au^  »ar  bent  9ttc(jter, 
SSarmatterte,  »un  SeBen 
ntagere  ©efi^ter* 
SSater  if  a  franfer 
S)ie  gutter  —  fc^ttja*,  ge^ro^en  t 
£)te  Dfeta*,  bie  Bibne  »ier,  — 
t>arre  ^>aut  un 

20 


Her  old  father,  with  gaping  wounds,  approaches 
them ;  he  weeps  and  blesses  his  children,  sobs  and 
disappears. 


Silenced  are  the  musicians  and  all  the  bells  :  all 
disappears,  and  all  is  mute;  only  the  betrothed 
remain  behind. 


They  remain  and  dance  quietly,  —  no  one  dis- 
turbs them  until,  when  beckoned  from  afar,  the 
bridegroom  vanishes. 


Then  the  dead  man's  bride  leaps  up :  "  O  you 
butchers  of  men ! "  and  she  disappears  upon  the 
mountains  with  wild  laughter. 


The  Beggar  Family 

A  BEGGAR  family  stands  in  the  courthouse 
before  the  judge.  They  are  worn  out  and 
tired  of  life,  and  their  faces  are  thin  :  the  father  is 
a  sick  man,  the  mother — weak  and  broken  down ; 
the  four  poor  little  creatures  are  nothing  but  dry 
skins  and  bones. 


21 


D,  (ejer  <Stnt  if  fetjer  grog, 
3f  groalttg,  gum  (£r(taunen  ! 
(See  fjafcen  metyr  fein  £eim  far  j!$, 
$ein  £>ire,  KM  gu  tootjnen. 
(See  fuel  en  aitf  tern  Sftidjter  {efct,  — 
(See  fennen  tie  ©rimajfen,  — 
(See  toeijfen  fc^on  tern  n?tlten  $faf 
gar  SBanblen  in  tie  ®afetu 

gg  treiBt  fee  f^on  tie  ©'redjtigfeit 
21U  Settler,  55agafeunt)ett, 
SSun  T)orf  git  £)orf,  \?un  (Statt  gu  @tabt, 
^imat  a  3afyr  a  runten* 
(See  fennen  jete  XpflTe  ft^on, 
(See  n?eiffen  fd)on  tie  5flore^  ;  — 
jkrfcen  aber  flarbt  (IdJ  nit, 


5Der  ?JWutter^  3ung;  if  fete  gelafjmt, 
2)er  3Sater  fra'gt  gutragen  : 
,,2Bu_tenfjl  tu,  £)gotg,  un0  setter  je 
TOtOfela^  gu  jagen? 
D,  Ia«  un^  ta  !  Die  @tatt  if  grof, 
SDttr  feeflen  eff^er  friegen 
21  Sftatjlgett  ergej  »u  gef^enlt, 
5ln  Drt,  atru  gu  liegen, 


,,Un?  ofc  i^  feef  a  SWal  gefunt 
(Set  ©ott  !ann  5ltte3  mer'en), 
SQBell  i$  mein  SBeib  un'  Winter 
Wlit  SartU^feit  ernatyren, 
£),  la^  un^,  Dgotg,  o,  Ia^  nn^  ta 
SSarHetBen  gttrifdjen  ^enfc^en  ! 
D,  gieB,  anftatt  gu  fluc^en  ti(|, 
©elegen^eit  gu  fcenfdjen  \" 

22 


Oh,  their  crimes  are  very  great,  of  unheard-of 
magnitude  !  They  have  no  home  of  their  own,  no 
place  where  to  live.  They  now  look  at  the  judge, 
they  understand  his  mien,  they  know  the  terrible 
punishment  for  wandering  in  the  streets. 


Justice  has  been  driving  them  as  beggars  and 
vagabonds  from  village  to  village,  from  town  to 
town,  almost  for  a  whole  year.  They  know  every 
jail,  they  know  all  those  dark  holes ;  in  spite  of  all 
that  they  did  not  die,  but  lived  on  for  ever  new 
troubles. 


The  mother's  tongue  is  almost  paralyzed,  the 
father  asks  in  fright :  "  Whither,  O  judge,  are  you 
going  to  drive  us  now  with  our  little  creatures? 
Oh,  leave  us  here  !  The  city  is  large,  —  we  will 
somehow  manage  to  get  a  meal,  and  a  place  where 
to  lie  down. 


"  And  if  ever  I  get  well  again  (with  God  every- 
thing is  possible),  I  shall  tenderly  care  for  my  wife 
and  children.  Leave  us,  judge,  oh,  leave  us  here 
among  human  beings  !  Oh,  give  us  an  opportunity 
of  blessing  instead  of  cursing  you  !  " 


£>er  £>5ob)j  Betradjt  bem  franten  Sftatm 


,,D,  nein,  i$  mefl  eud)  afle  fedjs 
25un  batmen  mefjr  nit  fdjidett, 
3fjr  fceibe  nor  wet  mufen  gefjn, 
£)ie  $fnber  wetten  BteiBen  ; 
3$  tt)ea  far  fee  in 
21  freten 


£>er  5Sater  n>crb  »ar  ©direct  ijarfhtmmt, 
£)tc  Gutter  ^ebt  an  fdjreten  t 
,,D,  netn,  ba^  met  in  ^>immel  ©ott 
@uc^  fetn  Wai  nit  ijaraei^en* 
Un'  nemmt  i|r  meine  ^inber  guf 
So  nemmt  ijareint  mein  Seben  ;  — 
£),  nein,  i^  foefl  bie  ^tnber  euc^ 
!ein  fc^um  §att  nit  geben  ! 


mit  S3tut  gefogen  fee, 
(Srgogen  ti^  a^iinber,  — 
3$  wett  auc^  tueiter  fcettten  ge§n 
Un*  fpeifen  meine  $inber* 
3^  jveif,  o  X)aobJ,  ba$  fann  nit  fein, 
2)u  ladjjt  e«_nor,  bu  fpieljl  nor, 
D,  tag  bie  JDfeladS  Bei  mir 
Un'  treib'  m&f  n?u  bn  anfljl  nor!" 


|,  —  er  entfert  nit  a  SBort, 
farttg  bie  ^apieren  :  — 
3^m  art  bie  ^uttefg  Sorter  nit, 
3t)m  !ann  ifjr  2Ce^  nit  rii^rem 
2)er  TOfdjpet,  er  if1  au^gerebt,  — 
Un'  !ann  er  fetn  no$  milber  ? 
51  boppelt  Stw^  auf  ber 
f^afftafol^e  23itber! 
24 


The  judge  looks  at  the  sick  man  with  a  sharp 
glance :  "  No,  I  shall  no  longer  send  you  all  six 
away  from  this  place.  Only  you  two  will  have  to 
go,  the  children  will  remain,  —  I  shall  get  a  free 
place  for  them  in  the  orphan  asylum." 


The  father  grows  dumb  with  fright,  the  mother 
begins  to  cry :  "  Oh,  no,  God  in  heaven  will  not 
forgive  you  that.  And  if  you  take  away  my  chil- 
dren, take  at  once  my  life  !  Oh,  no,  I  shall  never 
give  up  my  children  to  you  ! 


"I  fed  them  with  my  blood,  and  raised  them 
until  now;  I  shall  keep  on  begging,  and  feeding 
my  children.  I  know,  judge,  that  cannot  be,  you 
are  only  jesting  and  playing  with  us.  Oh,  leave 
the  creatures  with  me,  and  drive  us  whither  you 
please !  " 


The  judge  answers  not  a  word,  and  gets  ready 
the  papers.  He  cares  not  for  the  words  of  the 
mother,  her  woe  cannot  move  him.  The  sentence 
is  passed,  and  can  it  be  more  cruel?  Doubly 
cursed  be  the  system  that  makes  such  pictures 
possible ! 


SBuljtn? 

Sn  a  2Jtoebele 

,  ttwtjut,  bu  fronted  tftnb? 

£>ie  SBelt  if  no*  nit  offen ! 
£>,  fe|',  toie  JW  ba  if  arum! 
SBar  £ag  —  bie  ©ajfen  pe^ett  fhtmm, 
SBufjin,  wu^in  afo  gef^tmnb  ? 
3e^t,if  bo$  gut  311  f^Iafen : 
2)ie  S3Iumen  traumen  boc^  noc^,  — 
@$  fc^meigt  no(^  jieber  SSogelneji,  — 
SBufjitt  fort  treibt  eg  bid)  ajitnb  ? 

taufjl  bu,  fag', 
e    »arbienen !" 


,  wu^in,  bu  f^oettes 
(So  frat  Bet  ftad&t  fpa^ieren  ? 
5lUein  bur$  ginflernig  un? 
Utt'  m&  rujt,  eg  fd^meigt  bte 
SBu^in  fort  tragt  eg  bid)  ber  3Cinb  ? 
£)tt  ftjefi  bod^  noc^  uarirren  I  *  *  » 

j^at  ber  Xag  bir  nit 
fann  bir  tyelfen  benn  bie 
if  bod^  pumm  un'  taufc  un'  biinb ! 

mit  letdjten  ©innen  ? 


26 


Whither? 

To  a  girl 

WHITHER,  whither,  pretty  child?  The 
world  is  not  yet  open  !  Oh,  see,  how  quiet 
it  is  all  around  !  'T  is  before  daybreak,  the  streets 
are  mute.  Whither,  whither  do  you  hurry  ?  'T  is 
now  good  to  sleep,  and,  do  you  see,  the  flowers 
are  still  a-dreaming ;  every  bird's  nest  is  still  silent. 
Whither,  pray,  are  you  driven  now?  Whither  do 
you  hurry,  tell  me,  and  what  to  do  ?  —  "  To  earn 
a  living !  " 


Whither,  whither,  pretty  child,  walking  so  late 
at  night?  Alone  through  the  darkness  and  cold  ! 
And  everything  is  at  rest,  the  world  is  silent. 
Whither  does  the  wind  carry  you?  You  will  yet 
lose  your  way  !  Scarcely  has  day  smiled  on  you, 
how  can  the  night  help  you  ?  For  it  is  mute,  and 
deaf,  and  blind.  Whither,  whither  with  easy  mind  ? 
—  "To  earn  a  living  !" 


27 


jum 

(Summer  if  $eunt,  f$on  (Summer  if  tyeunt 
Du  $6rj*,  ttie  i$  pfetff  btr  a  ftigen? 
3n  ttefbfoen  £immel  tie  <Sunn'  golbig  f^eint, 
@$  fingen  in  2Balb  meine  htfttge  greunb', 
£g  fummen  in  ©ritngras  bie  gliegen ; 
&3  plaubert  ter  Quatt'  un'  e3  murmelt  ber  Xei(^, 
@^  iliUjen  un;  f^medfen  bie  SBliimela^  ret$,  — 
©enug  in  gaBrtl  bir  gu  Uegen ! 
(Ste^  aitf,  bie  9latur  pt  btc^  audj  gar  nit  feinb,  — 
(Sdjon  (Summer  if  §eunt,  ft^on  (Summer  if 
SStel  Sujttgteit,  ttiel  SSergenitgen 
@in  3ebwebe0  attjemt,  ein  3ebeS  genie^t,  — 
£3  fragen  nor  Sltte,  n?u  bu  ergej  bijl : 
Dein  Stjeefet  if  ba  {fi,  bein  3$etl  if  »aran,— 
5^u,  nemm  e0f  o,  nemm  ba^;  bu  Slrieitermann ! 

@6on  (Summer  if  i£t,  ft^on  ©ummer  if  i^t ! 
2>er  (Sc^metterHng  tanjt  auf  bie  23Iumen, 
2)er  ftlberner  ^tegenbel  m^ajebig 
S3  fle^en  bie  S3erg  afo  griin  un; 
Die  Sitft  if  gemif^t  mit  ^arfumen ; 
Die  (Sc^afelac^  fpringen  in  Blumigen 
Der  5)a3tuc^  ber|ort  f(^on  ber 
Die  fyetltge  3^it  if  ge!ummen ! 
9lu,  m&tif  nit  fein  <S$tie$ !  ba3  SeBen 
<Sd)on  Summer  if  i^t,  fdjon  ©ummer  if  i^t ! 
Der  SRab  mag  auf  a  SCeite  ijarflummen,  — 
Du  p(l  afo  tang,  afo  Bitter  gefdjafft, 
SSartoenb't  afo  narrif^  bein  eiferne  ^raft 
O,  reb'  $$  nit  ein,  as  ba$  2eBen  if  <Stug, 
$W  auf  mit  a  S^eef^e!  bem  ^og  ^jun  ©enuf 

2S 


The  Nightingale  to  the  Laborer 

SUMMER  is  to-day,  summer  is  to-day!  Do 
you  hear  how  I  warble  a  song  for  you  !  The 
sun  shines  golden  in  the  deep  blue  sky ;  my  airy 
friends  sing  in  the  forest;  the  flies  buzz  in  the 
green  grass;  the  spring  babbles,  the  brook  mur- 
murs ;  the  little  flowers  bloom  and  shed  their  rich 
perfume.  Enough  your  lying  in  the  factory !  Get 
up,  Nature  loves  you  also  !  Summer  is  to-day, 
summer  is  to-day !  Everything  breathes  joy  and 
pleasure,  everybody  enjoys  himself,  —  all  ask  where 
you  are.  Your  part  is  there,  there  is  a  share  for 
you,  —  so  take  it,  oh,  take  it,  you  working  man  ! 


Summer  is  now,  summer  is  now  !  The  butter- 
fly dances  upon  the  flowers  !  the  silvery  rain  drizzles 
delightfully;  the  mountains  are  green  and  clearly 
outlined  against  the  sky ;  the  air  is  mingled  with 
perfumes ;  the  sheep  frisk  in  the  flowery  vale ;  the 
shepherd  hears  the  shepherdess's  call ;  —  the  holy 
time  has  come  !  So  do  not  delay,  for  life  passes 
like  a  flash, — Summer  is  now,  summer  is  now! 
Let  the  wheel  be  silent  for  a  while  !  You  have 
worked  so  long  and  so  painfully,  you  have  so 
foolishly  used  up  your  iron  strength.  Oh,  do  not 
think  that  life  is  worthless,  lift  up  with  pleasure  the 
cup  of  enjoyment ! 


29 


(Sdjon  (Summer  if  ba,  f$on  (Summer  if  ba ! 

3dj  mett  es  bir  eoig  nit  jlngen, 

£)enn  enblidfj  met  fummen  auf  mir  au$  a 

3mefg  met  sarneljmen  bie  ftnjhre 
tyetltge  Sieb  met  ijarfhtmmetu 

n?ie  id^  ffng'  bir  arab  »un  bem  S3aum 
Sun  grei^eit  un;  Siebe  bem  golbenem  Slraum, 
Xo  ^eb'  bidj  un'  Ias3  bic^  nit  btngem  *  *  * 
£immlen  ijarHeifcen  auc^  ebig  nit  Ho, 

©ummer  if  ba,  frfjon  (Summer  if  ba ! 

fann  men  tu(lig  i>arBringen, 
£)enn  ri(%ttg  n>ie  bu,  welder  tuelft  ^e 
SSarn?e(!t  enblid^  2We$  un1  tragt  jl(^ 
Sftomenten  nor  bilben  ba^  £eben,  bie 
SSarfe^n  a  foment,  if  Darloren  ber  (Streit ! 


if  bte  2Mt? 


if  unfer  3BeItcI  a  (Sdjfafefmmer  nor, 
Un'  if  nor  a  (£§olem  ba^  SeBen; 
£)ann  fotten  mir,  mitt  id^,  audj  meine  paar 
3n  gute 


J)ann  mill  id)  S^alomeg  »un 
2Bte  jiene  gro  jartige  ^erren  j 
5Dann  mitt  id^  in  (£$olem  a  UeBIi^en 
Un'  mitt  nit  me$r  traumen  »un  £ratjren. 


Un'  if  unfer  SBettel  a  @f!md)e,  a  33att, 
2Qu  mir  feinen  5ltte  »arBetten  ; 
Dann  mittt  f!(^  mir  au$  ft£en  orettlic^  in  @aal 
Un?  ijafren  a  S^eete!  a  fettem 
30 


Summer  is  here,  summer  is  here  !  I  shall  not 
sing  it  to  you  eternally,  for  finally  my  hour,  too, 
will  strike,  —  a  dark  crow  will  occupy  my  branch, 
the  holy  song  will  cease.  As  long  as  I  sing  to  you 
from  the  tree  of  the  golden  dream  of  freedom  and 
love,  —  rise  and  let  me  not  urge  you  any  longer  ! 
The  heaven  will  not  remain  eternally  blue  !  Summer 
is  here,  summer  is  here  !  Now  one  can  pass  a  merry 
time,  for  just  like  you,  who  are  now  fading  at  your 
machine,  everything  will  in  the  end  wither  and  be 
carried  away.  Life  is  composed  but  of  moments, 
and  a  moment  unused  is  a  battle  lost ! 


What  is  the  World? 

IF  our  world  is  but  a  sleeping  room,  and  life  is 
only   a   dream,  —  then   I   wish  my   few  years 
should  flit  away  in  good  dreams. 

Then  I  wish  dreams  of  freedom  and  happiness 
like  those  the  great  gentlemen  dream  of;  then  I 
want  to  see  pleasant  sights  in  my  dream,  and  I  do 
not  want  to  dream  oi  tears. 

And  if  our  world  is  a  feast,  a  ball,  and  we  the 
invited  guests,  then  I,  too,  wish  to  be  seated  com- 
fortably in  the  hall  and  have  my  own  good  share  of 
the  banquet. 


fann  t$  uarbauen  a  <5a<$,  was  if  gut, 
21  23iffen  a  red&ten  sartragen; 
3$  pb'  in  metn_®uf  au$  biefelfcige  33Iut, 
2Bie  bie,  fceldje  D^reS  sarmogeiu 

Un'  if  nor  a  ©artcn  ajunb  unfer  SBelt, 
2Bu  '$  wad^fen  aitd^  atter^anb  0lofen, 
S)ann  wit!  ic^  frajieren  t>ort,  fcit  mir  gefaflt, 
Un'  nit,  urn  bie  Slei^e  mir  lafem 


£>ann  witlt  f!(^  mtr  tragcn  Dim  SBtumen  a 

3^  hrifl  fl(^  mit  Corner  nit  $teren  ;  — 

£)ann  wittt  |i$  mir  ait(^  mit  mein  Siebjtc  in  ©tana 

25un  SO^^rten  un'  Sorbecr  fpajieren* 

Un'  if  unfer  SBett  a  ^tl^ome  ajunb, 

2Bu  @tarlc  un'  ©c^ma^ere  flretten  ; 

£>ann  art  mi(^  fein  (Sturem,  tein  SKeib  un'  fein  $tnt>, 

3    bteib'  nit  mit  flattlett  »un  2Beiten» 


warf  i$  in  geuer  fl$,  ttJcr" 
Un'  lampf  fete  a  £oeb'  far  bem 
Utt'  trefft  mi*  We  tf  aul,  —  ic^  fatt?  tot  auf  'n  gelt, 
5Dann  fann  i 


Sluf  'n  ^otengarten 

91  Xraum 

^3S  ?fla*t  if  a  jHfle,  e«  leu^f  t  tie  Sewone, 

S^  fitnflen  tie  ©teren  in  ^)immel ;  — 
SDfad)  tragt  ber  S3al=(^olem  burt^  Jot  im'  tur($  Seben, 
Un'  $ort,  wa^  mir  ^olemt  in  Drimmel! 
32 


I  can,  indeed,  digest  a  thing  that  is  good,  I  can 
stand  a  dainty  morsel ;  I  have  the  same  blood  in 
my  body  as  those  who  possess  great  fortunes. 

And  if  our  world  is  but  a  garden  where  all  kinds 
of  roses  grow,  —  then  I  wish  to  pleasure  myself 
where  I  please,  and  not  where  the  rich  permit  me 
to  walk. 

Then  I  want  to  wear  a  wreath  of  flowers,  and  do 
not  wish  to  adorn  myself  with  thorns  ;  then  I  want 
to  walk  with  my  beloved  one  in  the  splendor  of 
myrtles  and  laurels. 

And  if  our  world  is  now  a  battlefield  where  the 
strong  struggle  with  the  weak,  —  then,  in  spite  of 
storm,  and  wife  and  child,  I  shall  not  stand  coldly 
aside. 

Then  I  thrust  myself  into  the  fire,  become  a  hero 
and  battle  like  a  lion  for  the  weak ;  and  if  the  bullet 
strike  me,  and  I  fall  dead  on  the  field,  —  then  I, 
too,  can  die  laughing  ! 


In  the  Garden  of  the  Dead 
A  Dream 

NIGHT  is  silent,  the  moon  shines,   and   the 
stars  twinkle  in  the  sky.    The  angel  of  dreams 
carries  me  thro1  death   and  life,  and  hear  what 
I  dream  in  my  slumber ! 
3  33 


#n  alter  SBeffolem,  surcorfene  tfworim, 
SBegraoene  (SHucfen  un'  3<w*  ; 
Da  liegen  tie  ®ute,  ta  Uegen  tic  <5d)!edjte, 
Da  rutyen  tie  £ned)f  tt)ie  tie  <5rore3. 


Dt  mu  nit  ttju  d^olemt  a  SBerfce  a  jtiflc, 

21  Sintele  wtegt  ifyre  3»^Ben  ;  — 

3*  (le^  tort  0efcr0<%en  un'  W  nit  lem  Shorter, 

Die  £ote,  tie  Sotc,  fee  fd)tt>eia,ett. 


3c^  (Icy  un'  Betra^t'  arum  ntir  tie 
Die  tjmtterte  S3ergta(^  tie  (iumme  ; 
3$  fc^  torten  ^worim,  un^  lenntig  au^ 
SSun  Ireme,  3Rei$e,  un'  grummc. 

gg  tragt  fid)  a  2Bintel  un'  tafc^tf^et  tie  ©ritfcer, 
@d  ttJiegen  P4  often  tie  8Iattla<$  : 
0lu^e  auf  eu*  in  tie 
0luy  in  tie 


3$  (ley,  un?  ed  grautt  mi4  1    &*  teVt  ter 
,,3n  Dorem=feit  fe^  un'  in  Boffe 
»un  tie  @eiten  swei  jli 
tu  fee  ?    <Saa/  e^  mir  offen  1" 


fey,  wie  sarfcfyieten  e^  feinen  tie 
ie  lann  ta  3Sarf(^ieten^eit  lummen  ?  > 

r  wa^  if  ot  ter  S3ergel  nefte^  a  tyofjler, 

lummt  auf  tern  at»eiten  tie  S3Iumen? 

tu,  fag',  SDtenfd),  far  n?a6  ta  wac^fen  Slumen, 
?  torten  if;  <Samt  nor  un'  @teiner?" 
t  mi^  ter  23al*djolem  gefragt,  un'  gef^woren, 
er  weig  tern  ©fob  un'  me^r  Reiner, 
34 


An  old  cemetery,  scattered  graves,  buried  happi- 
ness and  sorrows :  there  lie  the  good,  there  lie  the 
bad,  there  rest  the  slaves  and  the  oppressors. 


Here  and  there  an  old  willow  dreams,  and  a  soft 
wind  rocks  its  branches ;  I  stand  in  anguish  and 
hear  no  words :  the  dead,  the  dead,  —  they  are 
silent. 

I  stand  and  look  at  the  tombstones  around  me, 
at  the  hundreds  of  silent  mounds;  I  see  their 
graves,  and  't  is  evident  —  graves  of  the  poor,  the 
rich,  and  the  pious. 

A  zephyr  blows  and  passes  over  the  little  hills, 
the  leaves  above  them  rock  to  and  fro :  "  Holy 
peace  be  unto  you  in  the  graves,  holy  peace  in  your 
little  beds!" 

I  stand  and  shudder!  The  angel  of  dreams 
speaks :  "  Look  to  the  South,  and  to  the  North  ! 
Look  there  at  the  two  quiet  restingplaces  !  Do 
you  understand  their  meaning?  Tell  me  openly  !  " 

I  look :  how  different  the  two  graves  are ! 
Whence  comes  here  a  difference?  Why  is  this 
mound  here  entirely  bare,  why  are  there  flowers  on 
the  other? 

"  Do  you  understand,  O  man,  why  flowers  grow 
there,  while  here  there  is  sand  and  rocks?"  the 
angel  of  dreams  asked  me,  and  he  assured  me 
that  he  alone  knew  the  secret  thereof,  and  no  one 
else. 

35 


,,Dt  to",  unter  tiefen  Bemacfyfenem  Sergei,  — 
Der  Sfftenfdj  tyat  Befangt  511  tie  (Sdjtnter, 
$flegt  marteren  <Sdjma$e  un'  peinigen  Bitter 
Die  areme  SlrBeiterftnter, 


,,(£r  fjat  a  9fta(  SlrBetterBInt  nor  gefattgen, 
©epeinigt  tic  aremc  (Sffa^en  ;  — 
S)er&im  ))flegen  queUen  Bet  ttjm  feinc  ©tieber, 
Dt  tad  $at  i^m  gettfeft  gef^affcn* 


wUn'  ijt  if  JJUtt  STrBeltert  arcmc 
$3ad  er  l)at  varfreffen,  ttarnummen, 
Der  taftger  ©artelc  oBen  geroot'en,  — 
fetnen  tern  2lrBeiter'g 


/;Dn  tort  311  tern  nadcten  Sergei  Belangt  e3  ! 
)ad  fetnen  tent  SlrBetter'S  Sweeten  ! 

tua^fl  mm  fein  9ftar$,  »nn  fetn  33fat,  fetne  Stra^ren, 
er  Kjat  ijartoren  tnrd^ 


gd  Bfafl  fl^  a  SBintele  (lit!  tnr$  tie 

(55  ^b'ren  flcfy  Shorter  in  ©arten: 

,,X)ie  53(nmen  tie  fc^oene,  fee  feinen  gegantoet, 

£)t  torten  Betangen  fee,  torten  1" 

Un'  ^eftiger  tragt  ffdj  ter  SBinb  tnr(%  tie  ©ritBer 
tln;  rattfc^t  mit  a  Boefe  ^e^nme,  — 
(S3  l)oren  fld)  2Borter;  gar  f^redfli^e  Sorter  : 
,,$artanft  ed  tie  grumme,  tie  grumme  !" 

Da  gtei(^  ijat  tern  SlrBeiter^  ©rnB  (!$  gefpalten, 
2)er  33?eg  I)at  getnnnert  mit  3oren  : 
„£),  nit  nor  tie  S3Inmen  atlein  fetnen  nteine,  — 
Die  S3retter  fogar  »nn  fein  £)ren, 
36 


"  Here,  under  this  thickly  grassed  mound  —  the 
man  who  lies  there  has  been  a  flayer :  he  tortured 
the  weak,  and  tormented  bitterly  the  poor  working 
children. 

"  He  lived  on  the  blood  of  the  laborers,  and  tor- 
mented the  poor  slaves,  —  and  that  gave  sustenance 
to  his  limbs  and  brought  forth  fatness. 

"  And  now,  from  the  strength  of  the  poor  working 
men,  which  he  has  devoured  and  used  up,  there 
has  grown  up  that  little  garden  above  him  :  those 
are  the  flowers  of  the  working  man  ! 

"  They  belong  to  the  bare  mound  over  yonder  ! 
They  are  the  laborer's  blooms !  They  have  grown 
from  his  marrow,  from  his  blood,  from  his  tears 
which  he  shed  in  chains  !  " 

A  wind  softly  blows  over  the  graves,  and  the 
words  are  heard  in  the  garden:  "The  beautiful 
flowers,  they  are  stolen  flowers,  they  belong  over 
yonder,  over  yonder  !  " 

And  stronger  grows  the  wind  that  passes  over 
the  mounds,  and  it  howls  in  anger.  Words, 
terrible  words  are  heard :  "  You  may  thank  for  it 
the  pious,  the  pious  1  " 

Suddenly  the  working  man's  grave  clove  open ; 
the  dead  man  thundered  in  anger  :  "  Not  only  the 
flowers  are  mine,  nay,  even  the  boards  of  the  coffin 
are  mine ! 

37 


,,Un'  ntt  nor  bte  23retter  aflein  Dim  fein  Dren, 
£ac(jrt$im,  ait$  i$r  feib  nit  feine  ! 
$)a$  pt  er  burdj  mtr,  burc^  mein  areme 
£5,  mt$  un7  Sitter  if  meine  I" 


if  ber  Xoter  arauf  in  ber  Suften 
WD5«  wet  eitcfy  no(^  !open  !" 
Un?  ^at  feinc  ginger  in  gcwjhn  ftarfcroc^en, 
Un'  pt  anf  ber  2BeIt  f!^  »armo(lem 

SSar  (Scfyrecfettig  pb^i(^  emat^t  »un  ntein  potent, 

Hingt  mtr  in  Dtyer  bie  Xaine  : 
,  nit  nor  afletn  if  bie  23htmen  geganwet, 
un'  «tte«  if  meine!" 


"  And  not  only  the  boards  of  the  coffin,  —  you 
shrouds,  you  too  are  mine  !  He  has  it  all  through 
my  work,  my  poor  work,  —  oh,  all  and  all  is  mine  !  " 


Then  the  dead  one  passed  away  in  the  air  with 
cries  :  "  You  will  pay  for  it  yet !  "  and  he  clenched 
his  fist  and  threatened  the  world. 


Frightened  I  awoke  from  my  dream,  but  there 
still  resound  in  my  ears  the  words :  "  Not  only 
the  flowers  have  been  stolen,  nay,  all  and  all  is 
mine  ! " 


39 


NATIONAL    SONGS 


5ft" 


,  ba$t  jldj,  tooflen  je£t  fceten  mein 
fott  etroag  ladjen  —  eg  ge^t  a&er  nit 
35,  23ruberla$,  erjleng  if  jefet  feet  ung  (gftre, 
Un'  (lam  eppeg,  fagt  mir,  tute  la^t  eg  a 


IDi,  Sate,  tit  f  ad$  ?  ;g  if  a  tflag'  a«^  ®elad^ter  ! 
3n  jutif^e  great)'  if  t>enn  ba  eppeg  0lec^f  g  ? 
2)er  jiibtfdjer  Sac^  if  tenn  eppeg  a  renter  ? 
fc^  bo4  nor  »un  a  Siift  un;  a 


pt  a  Xam  gar  bag  jitbifdje  SeBen  ! 

pt  ber  iitbif^er  ^afe(  a  (£f)een  ! 
3n   >immel  bie  jtlfcewe  SBoIfenblac^  fc^me^en, 
3n  gelb  if  a  S^ijeg,  bu  —  fife'  nor  im;  t»ein  ! 


£)er  SBatb  if  gett)urgig,  im'  griin  if  ber  ©arten, 
3n  grueling  ber  SBintel,  mie  frtfd)  un;  tt)ie  fii^I 
2Bag  art  eg  bit^  3"bel,  tr-ag  art  eg  bi(^  borten  ? 
33ei  bir  if  boc^  ©fire,  bu  filfe'  in  ber 


X)er  lieBH^er  (Summer,  ber  Xrojlung  »uu 
@r  Iduft  gar  in  (Sitfjen,  in  $rad)$en  »ar;6ei  : 

!ann  er  bem  3iibett  far  ^ojfnungen  gefcen, 
3iiben,  —  tvag  troeft't  i^m  a  ©ummer,  a 
42 


Sephirah 

MESEEMS  I  should  like  to  ask  my  Muse  to 
laugh  a  little,  but  it  is  all  in  vain,  for,  to  be- 
gin with,  we  now  have  Sephirah,  and,  besides,  tell 
me  :  how  can  a  Jew  laugh  at  all  ? 

Oh,  God,  you  laugh?  What  a  pitiful  laughter! 
Is  there  anything  real  in  the  pleasures  of  a  Jew? 
Is  the  laughter  of  a  Jew  at  all  real  ?  No,  it  is  but  a 
mixture  of  sighing  and  groaning ! 

Jewish  life  has  no  flavor,  Jewish  happiness  has  no 
grace  !  In  the  heavens  float  the  silvery  clouds,  the 
woods  are  full  of  life,  but  you  sit  down  and  weep  ! 

The  forest  is  redolent,  and  green  is  the  garden ; 
the  breezes  of  Spring  —  how  refreshing  and  how 
cool !  What  concern  is  that  to  you,  Jew,  what  con- 
cern to  you  ?  You  now  have  Sephirah,  so  sit  silently 
and  weep  ! 

The  lovely  summer,  the  consolation  of  life, 
passes  away  in  sobs  and  in  sighs.  What  hopes  can 
it  give  to  the  Jew?  What  consolation  to  him  is 
summer,  and  May? 

43 


21  Settler,  toad  $at  nit  fein  «plafc,  ttw  gu  liegen, 
2Ba3  3ebmeber  tvarft  fld)  ntit  tfym  itor  arum  :  — 
9?u,  if  eppes  fdjajW  far  ifym  23argenitgen, 
21  ©arten  mit  Sfomim,  a  Saunt,  511  a  Stum  ? 


Un'  Homerfdjt  ber  3itt>,  Nenn  cr  (tngt  (!^  fattanber, 
3f\  metnt  ijr,  a  groe^Hftleit  ba  in  fein  Steb  ? 
3c^  |or^  in  fetn  SWfjen  nor  :  ,,2Bant>er  un1  iuanber!" 
3n  jebweber  9^ote  berfenn'  id)  tern 


J)em  jiibif^ett  Steb,  wenn  ed  fott  nor  berfyorett 
2ln  emejfer  ^eemtn,  t»ad  fteig  »un  ©efattg, 
X)ann  mu^  er  nit  rotflenbtg  gief  en  mit  Xrdfyren 
Un1  wer'en  eraittert  »un  Jetweber 


21  jittrige  X?ij[e,  a  £rue,  a 
C  ba^  tp  ajiinber  ber  jitbif^er  ©ujl, 
21  ©uft  h?a«  ewetft  nor  ©efulten'gu 
a 


21  Xftle^Ieoni,  a  3ape,  a 

D  ba^  tp  bie  jiibif^e  fitfjle 

@eit  bort,  in  fein  ^eilige  33fomim*mebine, 

SSarjiort  tp  gemor'en  fein  greub'  un1  fein  ©tiicf* 


D,  feit  in  fein  Slempel  guf^mettert, 
@ein  ^einb  pt  bie  fiiffte  ^lefemer,  if  nor 
X)em  3itbet  ber  Haglic^er  ©c^of 
,2luf  tt>e((^en  er  t^tipet  nor  em  %flal  in 


SSun  3iro&frn,  i5un  ^aufen,  sun  ^arfen,  »un  gieblen, 
Sun  Drgten,  ^larnetten,  ftaftol  un'  @ittar\ 
3P  me^r  nit  geMieben  bem  aremen  3ublen 
£>er  ftnjlerer  (S^ofer,  jutrudfent  un*  barr, 
44 


A  medicant  who  has  no  place  where  to  rest  him- 
self, with  whom  everybody  has  his  sport,  —  say,  is  it, 
then,  proper  for  him  to  think  of  pleasures,  of  gar- 
dens, of  balsam,  of  a  tree,  or  of  a  flower? 

And  if  even  the  Jew  at  times  breaks  forth  into 
song,  do  you  imagine  his  song  to  be  full  of  mirth  ? 
I  hear  in  his  melody  only :  "  Wander  and  wander  ! " 
by  every  note  I  recognize  the  Jew. 

If  one  who  is  well  versed  in  music  were  to  hear 
a  Jewish  song,  he  could  not  abstain  from  shedding 
tears  or  from  being  deeply  moved  by  every  sound 
of  it. 

The  ram's-horn's  call  to  repentance  and  attrition 
of  spirit, — that  is  now  the  favored  Jewish  melody, 
a  melody  that  wakens  only  feelings  for  the  grave,  a 
melody  that  shatters  a  breast  of  steel. 

The  Suppliant's  Psalm,  the  Song  of  Atonement, 
and  of  the  Destruction  of  the  Temple,  —  these  are 
the  sweetest  music  of  the  Jew,  ever  since  in  his 
holy  land  of  balsams  his  joys  and  his  happiness 
have  been  disturbed. 

Oh,  ever  since  his  enemies  have  shattered  and 
broken  the  sweetest  instruments  of  music  in  his 
Temple,  there  has  been  left  to  the  Jew  nothing  but 
the  plaintive  ram's-horn,  upon  which  he  sobs  but 
once  a  year. 

Of  cymbals  and  drums,  of  harps  and  lyres,  of 
organs  and  clarinets,  flutes  and  guitars,  there  is 
nothing  left  to  the  poor  Jew  but  the  gloomy  ram's- 
horn,  withered  and  dry. 

45 


Un'  n>a3  er  fott  flngett,  un'  n>ie  er  foil  Ia$en, 
Un1  nrie  er  foil  fpielen  gar  froetylidjttg  fiijj, 

men  in  Stet  feinem  plujjltttg  ermadjen 
t"  —  ta$  £erj  gft  a 


3$  wottf,  ta^t  fl<$,  tvotfen  je^t  ^eten  mein  Styre, 
@te  fott  etn?a^  ta^en,  eg  gefyt  a6er  nit  ! 
3a,  Sriiberla^,  erjlen^  if  je^t  6ei  utt^  (Sftre, 
Jpeunt  (lam  eppes,  fagt  mir,  tuie  lat^t  e$  a  3iit>  ? 


fjcttmtcflcn 

—  ijaraus  Me  alte  SDfine 


n?eint  un^  fagt  tie  Sdjitte, 
^  tie  3n?eite  legt  bem 


Un'  t$  tetflen  (1$  tie  Xra^ren 
©till  im1  n?arem  auf  ter 
nor  laum  gu 
ijarflemmt  tie  alte 


,,@tarfer  ^>arr  &tm  aUe  SBelten  ! 
3^,  tein  2)ienjlmoit,  fc^n?ac^  un'  arem, 
T  tie  ru^ige  ©egeltett, 
'g  (litte 


,,5lde  33ergela^  tie  fhtmme 
5D7eflr  id&,  guter  @ott,  a^itnter, 
2Bu  e3  ru^en  teine  ^rumme, 
X)eine  (eif  getiebte  Winter, 
46 


And  whatever  he  may  sing,  and  however  he  may 
laugh,  and  however  joyously  he  may  try  to  play, 
one  suddenly  hears  awakening  in  his  song  the 
Suppliant's  Psalm,  which  painfully  touches  the 
heart. 

Meseems  I  should  like  to  ask  my  Muse  to  laugh 
a  little,  but  it  is  all  in  vain,  for,  to  begin  with,  we 
now  have  Sephirah,  and,  besides,  tell  me :  how 
can  a  Jew  laugh  at  all? 


The  Measuring  of  the  Graves 

SEE !     In   front   is   old    Minneh   and    behind 
Pessyeh-Tsvaitle  !    Minneh  weeps  and  says  her 
prayer,  while  the  other  lays  the  yarn. 


And  the  tears  roll,  silent  and  hot,  on  the  prayer- 
book;  sobbing,  but  scarcely  audible,  old  Minneh 
says,  with  oppressed  heart : 


"  Strong  Lord  of  all  the  worlds  !  I,  thy  handmaid, 
weak  and  poor,  measure  the  quiet  abodes,  the  still 
graves  of  the  just. 


"  All  silent  mounds  I  now  measure,  good  God, 
where  there  rest  thy  pious,  thy  warmly  beloved 
children, 

47 


jhtgen  torten  <5djtre 
tefn  (Stufjl  in  t)o$en  £immet, 
3eter  (Siner  iwn  fein  £>ire, 
£>urdj  fein  e&tg  fugen  2>rimmel, 


,,Un'  ijun  bem  gelegten 
2Cet  mit  gorc^tigfeit  un' 
9fta$ett  Sid^t  t>ein  5)ef  jc 
Urn  311  lenten,  ©ott,  bein  Xore, 


,,Um  $it  fceten  tit 

Dae!  tn  fofljl  ft^on  fort  ter^oren 

3ajn!etu^  eme^tige  Xftte 

Un'  terfe^n  3t«r0JeF«  2:ra^ren !"  » 


j9l  bent  lafurnem  Sitft^jiam 
Die  (Si(^erwol!ent)Ia^  arum  ; 
ie  (Steren  fitnHett,  ©teren  leben, 
)ie  ^wonc  nor  if  Metc^  itn'  (litmm 


rit^t  bcr  2Batt>  in  ttefcn 
e  S3aitmer  jle^en  fc^a, 
SBintele  ^ewegt  tie 
(£3  fd^Iaft  tie  @rVf  eg  (lummt  tie 


weit  in  2BaIt  un^  in  (Sfafone 
£>er  Sitter  (le^t  tort  mit  fein 
(Sr  if  mefatefd)  tie  Sewone, 
(Sr  bet't  e$  for  i^r  St^t  agunt  : 
48 


"Who  sing  the  Hymns  before  thy  throne  in 
the  high  heaven,  each  one  from  his  habitation, 
through  his  eternal,  sweet  dream. 


"And  with  this  measured  yarn  thy  Pessyeh- 
Tsvaitle  will  make  candles  in  awe  and  fear,  in 
order,  O  God,  to  study  thy  Law  by  it, 


"  And  to  ask  thy  forgiveness,  that  thou  mayest, 
at  last,  hear  Jacob's  fervent  prayer,  and  accept  the 
tears  of  Israel." 


The  Moon-Prayer 

IN    the   azure   aerial   ocean    the   silver   clouds 
hover;    stars  twinkle,  stars  are  merry,  but  the 
moon  is  pale  and  silent. 


The  forest  rests  in  deep  silence ;  the  trees  stand 
hushed  in  meditation;  not  a  breeze  moves  the 
branches,  —  earth  sleeps,  night  is  mute. 


Only  deep  in  the  awful  forest  an  old  man  stands 
with  his  child  :  he  is  blessing  the  moon  and  prays 
now  for  its  light. 


49 


,,D,  ®ott,  id)  fcet'  fcei  bir  mit  Xro^ren, 
£)er$oY  mein  gttterbigen  $ol  ; 
(£$  foU  ifyr  ©djein  sarboppelt  mermen, 
<5te  foil  no$  leudjten  nrie  a  Sftal, 

,,2Bie  tein  S3egIaitBtcr  ^at  gefdjrteBett  t 
—  X)te  grofe  3tt?ei  un;  gl 
£),  ®ott,  n?ie  BIei$  if  fie 


O,  Wte  auHingt  e^  (l(^  in 
3n  tiefen  2BaIt>,  fein  ^ei 
2Bte  gief  en  flc^  bag  bte  ©efitfjlen  ! 
tt>enn  er  reb't! 


@etn  $tnb  nor  fudt,  tuer  lann  erflaren, 

SBa^  oben,  in  bem  fclauen  3am, 

@g  glan^en  »iele  tjefle  (Steren, 

Un;  mantle  f^munften,  fdjmiinHen  fam  ? 


$tnb  Betra^t  e^  oben 
Un'  fragt  bem  5llten,  nit  gej^ort: 
„£),  fag^  bod^,  SSater,  mag  men  glaufcen 
3n  bem,  wa^  idj  pb;  oft  geprt  ? 


fagt,  bem  Sflei^en^  ©teren  fimWt, 
3f  immer  §ett,  if  fianbig  grof, 
2)em  2lremen^  ijarfe^rt,  er  biinfelt, 
SSarlof^t  (id^,  lofd^t  fl$  itn'  ge^t  au0» 


,,(5(3  feinen  tale  ba 
O  borten  ?    @agr  bo$,  ja  311  nein  ? 
SBebeuten  fee  i  9tu^  i  ©oleg, 
3  greitb',  i  Slenb,  i  ©et»ein? 
50 


"O  God,  I  pray  to  thee  in  tears,  —  hear  my 
trembling  voice  !  Let  its  light  be  doubled,  let  it 
shine  as  of  yore. 


"As  thy  Trusted  one  has  written:  the  two 
great  and  equal  lights !  O  God,  how  pale  it  has 
become,  look  at  its  mortal  face  !  " 


Oh,  how  his  warm  prayer  resounds  in  the  silence 
of  the  deep  forest !  How  his  feelings  flow  !  How 
all  is  silent  when  he  speaks ! 


His  child  looks  on  and  wonders  why  above,  in 
the  blue  ocean,  many  stars  are  shining  bright, 
while  some  barely,  barely  twinkle  ? 


The  clever  child  looks  on  high  and,  without 
being  interrupted,  asks  his  father :  "  Oh,  tell  me, 
father,  can  we  believe  that  which  I  have  often 
heard? 

"  They  say  the  rich  man's  star  sparkles,  is  always 
bright,  always  large,  while  the  poor  man's  star 
grows  dimmer,  dimmer,  and  finally  goes  out? 


"  Are  there,  indeed,  stars  of  destiny  above  ?  Tell 
me,  yes  or  no?  Do  they  stand  for  peace  and 
oppression,  pleasure,  misery  and  weeping  ? 


,,Dn  fefjji  tort  jienent  ffetnem  (steren  ? 
3f  unfer9ftafelernit?    <3aa/! 
SBeit  unfer  Sefcen  trieft  nor  Sratyren 
Un'  flnjier  if  nn$  jeter  Slag,  *  „  „ 

,,Un'  fann  noc^  fein,  a^  er  fott  glanjen, 
S3ic  iene  tort,  in  golb'nem  ^rac^t  ? 
3u  loftfyt  er  f!c^  ba^  au^  in  ©angen, 
Sluf  eMg  tectt  Qm  gu  tie 


filter  fneetf($t  tern  ^ot^en  <5teren, 
Wart  an  Sntfer  far  tas  ^inb,  — 
lummen  <Sitfsen,  lummen 
SBorter  nit  afo 


2)tc  crftc 
f^netb't  ter  grofl,  ter  <5htrem  fejt, 


3n  fatten 


,,9Ht  f^reif  f!$  ^inb,  o,  nta<$' 
Die  3^tt  tjat  angewunfen  t 

if  todj  f^on  tie  Sunn', 
mug  (1$  itntertunfen," 


Sore's  Stjfotim  feinen  grog,  — 
•ftifcfyfofdje,  ma^  fein  Slnue  ! 
£>u  fpringjl  arein  wn'  frringjl  aratts, 
Un'  loWer,  su  mefite." 
52 


"  Do  you  see  over  yonder  the  small  star  ?  Is  it 
not  ours  ?  Tell  me  !  For  our  life  is  heavy  with 
tears,  and  all  our  days  are  dark. 


"  And  can  it  be  that  it  will  shine  some  day  like 
those  others,  in  golden  splendor  ?  Or  will  it  en- 
tirely go  out,  and  will  eternal  night  cover  it?  " 


The  old  man  wrinkles  his  high  brow  and  thinks 
of  an  answer  for  the  child ;  there  come  sobs,  there 
come  tears,  but  words  are  late  in  coming.  .  .  . 


The    First    Bath    of  Ablution 

THE  frost  cuts  sharply,  the  storm  rages,  and 
Basheh  and  Tsilleh  lead  now  the  fisherman's 
daughter  to  the  cold  bath  of  ablution. 


"  Be  not  frightened,  my  child  !  'T  is  but  a  small 
matter.  The  time  has  approached ;  for,  you  see, 
the  sun  has  gone  down,  and  you  must  dive  under." 


"  The  mercies  of  the  Lord  are  great !  Do  not 
tarry,  be  quick  !  You  leap  in,  you  leap  out,  and 
you  are  ritually  pure." 


53 


Un'  fey,  e3  aurft  taS  garte  2etB, 
3n  milten  grojl  iw'  ©turem. 
21,  ttittfl  tu  fete  a  Siiten'S  SBeifc, 
ti$  gu  Seffurtm  !  .  .  . 


(Sic  frringt  arein,  (le  frrtngt  aruf, 
Umfiip,  umfiijl  ^e^ome  I 
Dort  (le^t  utt;  futft  ter 
X>u  fctjl  ge^ticBen  tome* 


Un?  mteber  ^a^en  (1(6  gctutft 
SJiit  (Sc^recf  tie  fc^oene  ©lieter  ; 
sun  terweiten  fte()t  un'  fudt 


(larler  wert  ter  groft  er  Brennt! 
Die  Gutter  un7  tie  (Sc^^eene, 
(See  fcredjen  tie  gitfror'ne  ^>ant'; 
Un'  blei^er  wert  tie  ©c^oene* 


se  wie  ter  Din  i«, 
if  f^on  ter  0tofc^e,  — 
2freitt  aunt  tritten  $Jlal,  gefc^mint  ! 
tfetn  Soef,  Rte  S3oef,  nif$f  ofte  1" 

Die  SBIeit^e  wei^t  »un  £)in  nit  ab 
Un'  tfjut,  »ie  ^  Wt  gef^rieben  : 
@ie  if  arein,  fie  if  arab, 
Un'  if  f^on  tort 


54 


And  behold,  the  tender  body  shivers  in  the  se- 
vere frost  and  the  storm.  Ah,  you  wish  to  become 
the  wife  of  a  Jew,  so  get  used  to  suffering  !  .  .  . 


She  leaps  in,  she  leaps  up ;  —  in  vain,  in  vain, 
my  dear  !  There  stands  and  looks  a  Gentile,  — 
you  remain  impure. 


And  again  the  beautiful  limbs  dive  under  in  terror, 
but  the  uncircumcised  still  stands  at  a  distance  and 
looks  on. 


The  frost  grows  stronger  and  more  biting.  The 
mother  and  the  neighbor,  they  rub  their  frozen 
hands, — and  the  beautiful  one  grows  paler. 


"  Now,  do  as  the  Law  requires,  my  child  !  The 
evil  man  has  gone  away.  Go  in  for  the  third  time, 
quickly  !  It  will  not  hurt,  do  not  mind  it ! " 


The  pale  one  does  not  break  the  Law,  and  does 
as  is  written.  She  leaped  in,  she  went  down,  and 
she  remained  below.  .  .  . 


55 


SWcmfer 


S^ceber^finbcr  fciflen  ftcfy  mit  mir  nit  fpielen, 
£>er  $efce  ftedjt  midj  bnrdj  mit  feine  33lirfen  ; 
t  ba  far  mir  !ein  £er$  mit  menfcfylidje  ©efiitjlen,  — 
feoflten  geren  midj  berjhrfen.  ,  »  » 


SSun  ^it>efc^=6ec6er,  ttw  t)ie  ^inbcr  atfe  fitp^en, 
jagt  mit  toilten  ^ag  an>eg  ber  @cbame3, 
'  ,,9ftamfer",  tor  gum  Dren!obef(^  fiti)  nit 
SSarf^oIten  feinen  meine  ,,t>aleb 


_        gum  ;,£eienen"  tic  ©ofertore, 
;  3eber  litter  fttfc^t  i^r  mit  a  £tufd)e  : 
jlefl*  tic  Stypen  att^,  men  fttdt  attf  mir,  a 
fe^r'  (tc^  ab  mit  2Ce§tag  un'  mit 


trac^fun'  trad)f,tm'  !ann  mein  S^et  (!(%  nit  ertla'ren; 

t§t  a  9ftamfer  ?  @agt,  far  tt>a«  mid) 
Un'  frag'  i$  e«  mein  Gutter,  n?eint  fle  bitfre 
@ie  fuf(^t  midj  feeif  un'  »iH  e^  mir  nit  fagem 

Oar  anb're  Winter  ^at  a  Jate  t»as  gtt  fagen, 
Un'  far  a  3offem  fleflt  flc^  3eber  liner  :  — 

^  Bin  tjef!er,  »ie  a  S3Iatt  ^un  SBinb  getragen, 
etn  fc^n?ac^e0  SBeifc,  o,  liebt  micb  Reiner  ! 


Un'  nw  if  boc^  mein  2ate  ergej  ^inge!ummen  ? 
9ttt  ba  fetn  (Sntfer  far  bem  57att>enabten. 
3P  ^  geflorben  ?    £at  ber  ^)immel  t^m  genummen? 
fag'  ic^  !ein  ^abefc^  nac%  mein  Jaten  ? 
56 


The    Bastard 

THE  school  children  do  not  want  to  play  with 
me;   the  teacher  pierces  me  with  his  look; 
there  is  no  heart  with  human  feelings  for  me,  — 
and  even  the  best  would  fain  strangle  me.  .  .  . 

The  beadle  drives  me  away,  in  wild  anger,  from 
the  cup  of  benediction,  from  which  all  children 
sip.  I  am  called  "  bastard,"  am  not  allowed  to 
approach  the  Holy  Ark,  cursed  are  my  "  four  cubits." 

The  Precentor  carries  around  the  Scroll  before 
its  reading,  and  everybody  kisses  it  with  ardor :  I 
pout  my  lips  to  kiss  it,  they  look  at  me  in  terror,  — 
I  turn  away  in  pain  and  shame. 

I  think,  and  think,  and  cannot  understand  my 
transgression.  What  does  it  mean  —  "  bastard  "  ? 
Say,  why  do  they  plague  me  ?  And  if  I  ask  my 
mother,  she  weeps  bitter  tears,  and  kisses  me  fer- 
vently and  will  not  answer  me. 

Other  children  have  a  father  for  their  protector, 
and  everybody  takes  the  part  of  an  orphan,  —  but 
I  am  forlorn,  like  a  leaf  carried  by  the  wind,  —  ex- 
cepting a  weak  woman  no  one  loves  me  ! 

And  what  has  become  of  my  father  !  There  is 
no  answer  to  the  outcast.  Has  he  died?  Has 
Heaven  taken  him  ?  Why  do  I  not  say  the  Prayer 
for  the  Dead  after  my  father? 


57 


3d)  frag'  bem  2Binb*     Die  SBelt  if  fhtmm  ju  meine 

©djmerjett, 

3$  fyoY  fein  (Sntfer,  tyor*  fein  @inem  reben, 
Dem  (SmeS  nor  »arne^m'  ic^  ttef  Bet  mir  in 
S3in  unf^ulbig  un'  leib  umfiijle  Seiben* 


if  fcer  9Hai  gelummen 
fetn  SauBcr,  mit  fein 
Sltfe  ©rafen,  aUe  S3Iumen 
£aben  micber  aufgemac^t 
SBieber  btu^t  e$  auf  t»te  §ctt>er, 
2Bieber  grunt  e$  in  tie  SSalber, 
SBieber  glanat  eS 
SBieber  flngt  tie 


SBieber  ncmmt  bcr  grueling  maten 
3Kit  fefn  3>tnfel  ;  »ie  er  f^miert, 
SBer'en  Merger,  wcr'en 
2Berb  trie  SrV  mit  ©riin 
SBieber  lat^t  bie  (Sunn'  arunter 
3u  ber  2Belt  unj  mad^t  iljr  muntcr  : 
i^r  @4met$el,  ntit  i^r 
(!e  grett  i 


fangt  an  gu  griinen, 


SBunberfc&oene  ^antajlen 
Sie^en  burd^  'n  £erjen  jliU  ; 
©olbenc  (E^atome^  fdjwefcen 
Un'  fee  njeten 
9leue  $immten, 
Un'  fee  ttjeden 

58 


I  ask  the  wind.  The  world  is  mute  to  my  suffer- 
ings ;  I  hear  no  answer ;  I  hear  no  one  speaking,  — 
I  only  hear  the  truth  deep  in  my  heart :  I  am  in- 
nocent, and  suffer  vain  sufferings. 


The    Jewish    May 

A  GAIN  May  has  come  with  its  charm,  with  its 
.I\glory:  All  grasses,  all  flowers  have  again 
awakened  from  their  slumbers.  Again  it  blooms 
in  the  fields,  again  it  grows  green  in  the  woods, 
again  there  is  splendor  everywhere,  again  the  night- 
ingale sings. 


Again  Spring  begins  to  paint  with  its  brush ;  as 
it  paints,  mountains,  and  valleys,  and  the  whole 
earth  clothes  itself  in  green.  Again  the  sun  smiles 
down  upon  the  world  and  makes  it  merry  :  with  its 
smile,  with  its  kiss  it  prepares  it  for  pleasures.  .  . 


At  once  every  human  feeling  begins  to  grow  green 
and  bloom,  wonderful  melodies  pass  quietly  through 
the  heart.  Golden  dreams  hover  and  weave  new 

59 


Sefcen, 
Utt'  e$  flerfeit 

®litcfett, 

erqutrfen. 


iljr  fe$t  tort  Sittem  treteit, 
tfitdenbtg  3«  b'r  <£tb'  arab  ? 
2luf  t)te  gritne  SJlaita^etett 
©iiftt  er,  f^ollentig  tern  $opp, 
Sinfam  mit  fein  fdjweren  Summer 
©c^t  er,  abgelebt  un'  mitt>,  — 
@ein  gef^matfer  SJZat,  feitt  Summer 
lang  fcfyon,  lang 


SBeigt  i^r,  lennt  i^r  jettem 
2Beld)er 
SWit  a  f^recflic^en  ©ebanfen 
Un'  a  fhirmifdjen  ©emitt  ? 
Unfer  SHter,  unfer  3itb  ! 
^eine  fiigc  ^tjcmtajlen 
Un'  Kin  ^offnung  itt  feitt 
feitt 


alte,  — 
SReefiim,  2Weef(!m,  Xrupeg  falte, 


3et>er  S3(um^  utt'  ieber  Dorett 
Ireibt  mit  i§m  a  »tlben 
T)er  (Stafwit  fudt  5tt  tnit 
Un'  bte  ^ra^e  ft^reit  mit 
60 


heavens,  and  call  forth  new  life,  and  there  are  a 
thousand  happinesses  to  quicken  every  heart. 


But,  behold,  you  see  there  one  treading  with 
downcast  looks  !  Upon  the  green  tapestry  of  May 
he  sobs  and  shakes  his  head.  Lonely,  with  his 
heavy  sorrow,  he  walks,  worn  out  and  tired,  —  his 
pleasant  May,  his  summer,  has  faded  long,  long  ago  ! 


Do  you  recognize,  do  you  know  that  sick  one 
who  walks,  where  everything  blooms,  with  a  terrible 
thought,  with  a  stormy  spirit?  Our  old  acquain- 
tance, our  Jew  !  No  sweet  fancies,  no  hope  in  his 
look ;  through  his  heart  pass  sorrows,  old  wounds, 
that  bring  back  old  recollections  :  corpses,  corpses, 
cold  dead  bodies,  —  old  youth,  old  happiness. 


Every  flower  and  every  thorn  has  its  sport  with 
him :  the  onion  stalk  looks  gloomy,  and  the  crow 
cries  in  anger.     Strange  are  to  him  the  flowers, 
61 


ftremb  bie  23Iumen,  fremb  bte  flatter, 
gremb  bie  SBett,  a  frember  mail 
ffrembe  SSoegel,  frembe  ©otter, 
grembe  5ftenf$en,  —  TO  sat&et!  .  • 


nit,  33Ittmen,  nor  nit  fpotten ! 
feit)  f(^oen;  — gewip,  gen?if ! 
»iel  ft^onere  gutretcn 
ber  3u*>  ntit  feinc  gu§',  »  «  » 
i)itU  mit  ^omeran^en 
in  fetn  Sanb  geglangt, 
©etne  wunberf^ocne 
J^at  fetn  ©ott  aflein  i 


Bragt  bie 

gragt  bent  (Sc^oren^  gritne  SJJtyrt'! 

D,  fee  rotten  no(^  ber!onnen 
abgelebten  SBtrt 
bem  fdjoenem  ^ar^afeefjlm, 
bem  ^armel,  —  jeben  S3aum, 
bte  atte  ft^oene  ^eefftm 
bem  fdjoenem  alten  Xranm»  «  < 


3n  fetn  ^eiltger  S0?ebine 
£at  ©aneeben^luft  gefd^metft, 
3n  fetn  Sentpel  Jat  bte  ©c^^ine 
©tanbtg  |Idj  jn  i|m  entpledft 
STaufenb  Snget  |jflegen  fptelen 
3n  fetn  tyeiligen  ©ejelt, 
laufenb  grenben  ^flegt  er  fittjlen, 
Breuben  »un  an  anber  2Qelt 
62 


strange  the  leaves,  strange  the  world,  a  strange 
May  !  Strange  the  birds,  strange  the  gods,  strange 
the  people,  —  all  that  is  not  for  him. 


Laugh  not,  flowers,  do  not  scorn !  You  are 
beautiful,  no  doubt,  no  doubt !  but  much  more 
beautiful  ones  the  Jew  has  trod  under  his  feet.  .  .  . 
Fields  full  of  oranges  have  gleamed  in  his  country, 
and  his  beautiful  plants  were  planted  by  God  him- 
self. . 


Ask  the  cedars  of  the  Lebanon,  ask  the  green 
myrtle  of  the  Sharon  !  Oh,  they  will  still  recog- 
nize their  wearied  host,  —  ask  the  beautiful  Olive 
Mount,  ask  the  Carmel,  and  ask  every  tree  :  ask  all 
those  dead  beauties  for  that  old  and  beautiful 
dream !  . 


In  his  holy  land  there  breathed  air  of  Paradise, 
in  his  Temple  the  Godhead  has  always  manifested 
itself;  thousands  of  angels  used  to  play  in  his 
tents ;  he  experienced  thousand  pleasures,  joys  of 
another  world. 


Morten  $at  a  9ftal  ber  3ubel 
SSun  a  wunbemic^e  giebel 
2fu3getufd)t  tie  fdjonfh  Sieber, 
SBetdje  flatten  tHn  SRat  tweber 
9fttt  bemfelfeen  fitgcn  3auBer, 
Sftein  un'  §etltg,  rein  un?  fauber,  — 
Sluf  a  2Berfcc*baum,  a  (lummc, 
ber  potent  »un  metn  Ume* 


iener  potent, 

tit  d^otemt  »un  fcas  9leu  — 
bu,  3iit>  ?  SSun  »eiten«. 
Sfluft  stt  bit  a  neuer  ^ai. 
SBetn'  nit,  fctft  noc^  nit  »arlorcn, 
bu  Mjl  »un  ?eiben  miib, 

gute  3af)ren 
SBtnfen  fd^on  ju  bit,  tnein  3iib  ! 
^)or(l  bu  btttdj  bic  SBoIfen  jie^en 
SJMobien, 


bu,  tyorjl  bem  neuen  Sieb  ? 


35Mebet  wet  betn  @frcg  fdjmetfen, 
©langen  n?et  bein  Sl^^etpn'  ; 
SBtcber  wet  fld^  ©ott  eriverfen 
Un;  wet  brengen  bid^  a^in*  »  »  » 
n?ejl  bu  ^irtentieber, 
od^  beine  <5$af  ; 

wejl  bu,  tefcen  trieber, 

ebig,  ol)n'  a  @fof» 

bein  fdjretflicfyet 

bu  axemen  mit 
Untet'm  (lummen  S3arg 


64 


There,  at  one  time,  the  Jew  drew  out  the  sweetest 
songs  from  an  instrument  of  wonderful  sweetness, 
songs  which  never  sound  again  with  the  same  sweet 
charm,  pure  and  holy,  pure  and  chaste :  upon  a 
willow,  silent,  hangs  the  dream  of  my  nation.  .  .  . 


Yes,  that  dream  is  passed,  but  you  dream  anew,  — 
do  you  hear,  Jew,  from  afar  a  new  May  calls  out 
"  Peace  "  to  you?  Weep  not, you  are  not  yet  lost, 
though  you  are  faint  with  sufferings,  —  new  years, 
good  years  already  beckon  to  you,  my  Jew  ?  Do 
you  hear  passing  through  the  clouds  heavenly  rich 
melodies,  sweet  harmonies  of  Cherubim  ?  Do  you 
hear,  do  you  hear  the  new  song? 


Again  your  lime  will  be  fragrant,  and  your  orange 
will  gleam,  again  God  will  awaken  and  bring  you 
thither  !  You  will  sing  shepherd  songs  as  you  will 
herd  your  sheep ;  you  will  live  again,  live  eternally, 
without  end.  After  your  terrible  wanderings  you 
will  again  breathe  freely;  there  will  again  beat  a 
hero's  heart  under  the  silent  mountain  Moriah. 


Werner  feet  bi$  nte^r  nit  treikn 
Sftit  (silfulim  otyn'  a  Qa^l ; 
3n  ber  £eim  feejl  bit  sarfcletoen, 
@tttt  un'  rutjig,  feie  a  9ftaf. 
£ref  fananber  nor  bie  ©tefdjte 
SSitn  bcin  alien  SBaterlanb, 
'$  glit^t  nodj  bort  ein  ^alemefc^f 
S3ei  ber  eingefalFner  SKanb !  «  . 


jitbifrfjcr 

feett  »itn  ^tetuno,  nor  a  Jjitnbert  fitfgtg  Xrttt, 
3f  ba  a  ^eemer,  aber  Reiner  fefyt  i^m  nit  ;  — 
Der  Ort  if  einfam  un'  sarlafen  un'  allein  ; 
X)ort  liegt  fetn  ^ranj,  bort  (le^t  fetn  S^amorftein  ; 
2)ort  wac^ft  fein  ©rafele,  Icin  Slitmete,  fein  33Iatt; 
2)ort  ru^t  a  toter  £elb,  a  jitbif^er  (Solbat,  — 
21  jiibifdjer  ©olbat,  gefatlen  ba  in  $rteg, 
SluJIanb  ^at  gefeiert  jlolj  i^r  gro^ten 


21  ttefe,  tote  ©ttflfeit  ^errf^t  bort  runb  arum; 

if  efngefcfylafen,  ru^tg,  (litl  nn7  ftumm  ; 
faum  f(^Iagt  au0  ber  Xurem^faeger  ^alB 
21  flarter  ^i^rat^-jlurem  bte  ^tnuf  ern?ac&t, 
Un'  eg  getirittert,  nn'  e0  fhiremt,  nn'  e0  fc^recft, 
S^  laremt  un  e^  gilbert,  gewalbewet  un7  werft, 
Un'  »un  bem  (Sturem  fpalt't  f!^  auf  bie  flumme 
Der  ^)e(b  jh$t  auf  »un  ^eetver  mit  'n  blanfen 


@r  (letlt  f!$  auf  ber  ^ejlung  mit  a  wilben 
Un'  »un  ber  SBunb'  oei  i^m  in  Bergen  giegt  ftc^  33Iut; 
@«  fleijt  fein  reine  S3(ut,  —  bie  SBunb'  in  £er$  if  grog, 
Un'  er  $e&t  auf  fein  fc^arfen  <5$wert  un'  bunnert  au^  : 
66 


No  one  will  drive  you,  with  oppressions  without 
end,  you  will  stay  at  home,  quietly  and  peacefully 
as  of  yore.  Walk  along  the  bypaths  of  your  old 
fatherland,  —  there  is  still  a  spark  of  life  left  in  the 
brand  near  the  ruined  wall ! 


The    Jewish    Soldier 

NOT  far  from  Plevno,  but  a  hundred  and  fifty 
steps  away,  there  is  a  grave,  visible  to  none. 
The  place  is  lonely,  lost  and  lorn ;  no  wreath  lies 
there ;  there  stands  no  marble  stone ;  there  grows 
no  grass,  no  flower,  no  leaf,  —  there  rests  a  dead 
hero,  a  Jewish  soldier,  fallen  there  in  battle,  where 
Russia  has  proudly  celebrated  her  greatest  victory. 

A  deep,  dead  stillness  reigns  there  round  about. 
Everything  has  fallen  asleep ;  all  is  quiet,  still  and 
mute.  As  soon  as  the  tower  clock  strikes  at  mid- 
night, a  strong  east  wind  begins  at  once  to  blow 
and  it  thunders,  and  it  storms,  and  it  wakes,  it 
clamors  and  it  clatters,  roars  and  calls,  and  from 
the  storm  the  silent  earth  cleaves  open,  and  the 
hero  rises  from  his  grave  with  his  drawn  sword. 

He  stands  upon  the  fortress  with  grim  courage, 

and  blood  flows  from  the  wound  in  his  heart.     His 

pure  blood  flows  freely,  for  the  wound  in  his  heart 

is  great,  and  he  lifts  his  sharp  sword  and  thunders  : 

67 


auf,  i$r  $rfeg$*c(jaweerim,  gum  ©eridjt  e 
@agt,  @ebe$,  pfc'  id)  treu  genug  gefampft  in  <SdjIad)t  ? 
<5agt,  otn  i$  nit  far  ^uflaub'S  <£l)re,  SRugtanb'3  Sftetdj, 
©efaflen  auf  tern  $lafc  mit  afle  £elben 


Un'  n?ie  fein  SDort  sarfltngt,  ermad^en  nttt  a 

e(,  tt?ie  @amb  bei  'm  33reg  i)itn  flttten  3am  ; 
ganjc  ^riegewolf  jle&t  auf  311  fein  SSartang,  — 
SSitn  na^nten  wn'  »itn  metten  fummt  bet  f(^n?erer  ©ang 
@3  n>erb  a  Xupperei,  eg  tvert  a  ^lingerei, 
SI  ©efjeret,  a  X)re^erei,  a  ©pringerei, 
Un'  jeter  (Sottner  fc^reienbig  ^e^t  auf  feiu  Jpanb 
tin'  fc^wort  :    ,,£>u  ttjl  geftorien  e^rli^  far  bein  Sanb  ! 


Un'  balb  merb  »ieber  jliU,  fein  $0$,  tern  SaineS  nte^r ; 
23arf$nwnben  tuerb  bie  gauge  9ftacf)ne  fWtltt&r ; 
auf  ber  gejlung  jle^t  ber  fitbifc^er  ©olbat, 
jebe^  SBort  if  bort  a  glit^enber  ©ranat : 
„£),  3fluglanb!    ^afl  mi$  »un  mein  SBeiB  un'  ^inb 

gefc^etb't ! 

©eftorfcen  Bin  ic^  far  bein  (Sfjre  Junger^eit !  — 
»arjag(i  bu  meine  (Slenbe  agiinb  ? 
a  tiefen,  fdjtueren  ftlufy  bir  burdj  bem  SDinb  I" 


Un'  faum  »ar$ilc(jt  bem  @$ilter'«  ^lote,  ttutl  mit 
Jragt  i^m  ber  ©turem  in  ber  falter  ©rub'  aretn, 
Un'  5^a^t  nac^  5^a*t,  ot  ri^tig  gu  berfelber  3eit, 
SCerb  bort  biefelbe  (Scene  sun  ba$  5^eu  beneu't 
Dem  <S6ttner'3  tiefe,  W»ere  ^toleg  HeiBen  fl*,  a 
Un7  mel)ren  jl<$,  un?  me^ren  f!$,  un'  tragen  fld&  ameg 
2(uf  S^ugten  tnm  bem  @turem  mit  a  tmlbe 
3n  ©atfc^tna,  un'  fpretten  (l^  bort  au0  auf  a 
68 


"  Arise,  comrades  of  war,  arise  to  the  judgment ! 
Say  witnesses,  have  I  fought  faithfully  in  the  battle  ? 
Tell  me,  did  I  fall  upon  this  spot,  together  with 
other  heroes,  for  Russia's  honor,  for  the  country 
of  Russia  ?  " 


And  as  his  words  are  silenced,  in  anger  an  innu- 
merable host  awakens,  like  sand  on  the  shore  of  a 
quiet  ocean,  —  the  whole  army  arises  at  his  request. 
From  near  and  from  afar  comes  the  heavy  troop  : 
there  is  a  tramping,  clanging,  marching,  whirling, 
galloping,  —  and  every  soldier  lifts  his  hand  and 
swears  :  "You  died  honorably  for  your  land? " 

And  soon  all  grows  quiet  again ;  there  is  no  tur- 
moil, no  sound  is  heard ;  the  whole  host  of  soldiers 
disappears,  but  the  Jewish  soldier  still  stands  upon 
the  fortress,  and  every  word  of  his  is  a  glowing 
grenade  :  "  O  Russia  !  You  have  separated  me 
from  my  wife  and  child ;  I  died  young,  defending 
your  honor.  Why  do  you  now  drive  away  my 
wretched  family?  I  send  a  heavy  curse  to  you 
through  the  wind  !  " 

And  scarcely  has  the  curse,  freighted  with 
pain,  been  uttered,  the  storm  carries  him  back  into 
the  cold  grave.  And  night  after  night,  exactly  at 
the  same  time,  the  same  scene  is  renewed.  The 
soldier's  deep,  heavy  curses  gather  awfully,  and 
grow  and  grow,  and  are  carried  away  on  the  wings 
of  the  storm  in  wild  haste  to  Gatchina,  and  are 
there  scattered  over  the  palace. 
69 


5(uf  'n  HBufen  bun  3am 

f$red(idjer  SBinb,  ber  gefci§rHd)er  ©turem, 
@r  rangeft  fid)  t»ort  mit  a  ©cfyijf  auf  'n  Sfteer  ; 
(£r  mitl  fie  subredjen,  un'  fie  tnit  3effurim 
©cfyneib't  burdj  afle  Xiefenig, 


@«  tref^tf^et  t>er  ^a^aum,  ber  @egel,  er  stttert, 
2)er  raufdjenber  SBajfer  if  morebig  tief  ;  — 
£3  fdmpfen  mit  3«>^en/  e$  flreiten  »arbittert 
Sot  un'  auf  Se^en  ber  SBtnb  mit  ber  ©djiff, 


£)t  mug  ffe  ftc^  tegen,  ot  mu3  fie  ftcfj  flellen, 
Dt  tretbt  e3  auritcf  i^r,  ot  treiit  e$  ijarau^,  — 
51  ©pielc^el  if  ifcter  bie  @$ijf  bei  bie  SGeUen, 
fc^Ungen  fie  ein  un'  fee  fpeien  fie  au$, 


gg  taremt  ber  3am;  un'  es  ^eben  fi 
@$  ^uget,  e^  pilbert  mit  (Sdjrerf  un'  mit  ®raul  ;  — 
$)er  ©turem,  ber  ®a$Ieu,  will  umbrengen 
£)er  Sfyom  offent  auf  fein  »arfc^Iof  ene  Want. 


$3  ^oren  ft(%  ©ufjen,  e3  ^ort  M  ein 
>$  if  grog  bie  ©fafone,  '$  if  f^recflic^  bie 
UrC  3eberer  bet't  6ei  fein  ©ott,  er  foU  retten, 
S3efreien  bie  SO^enf^en  »un  fic^eren  Jot, 


metnen  bie  ^inber,  ea  flagen  bie  S3eiber, 
fc^reit  un'  men  if  ftc^  mi^mabe  ajitnb  : 
S^  flatteren  @eelen,  e3  sitteren  Seiber 
SSar  ©c^recf  »ar  bem  boefen,  ijarnid^tenben  2Binb* 
70 


On  the  Bosom  of  the  Ocean 

r  I  ^HE   terrible  wind,  the  dangerous  storm,  is 
J_  wrestling  with  a  ship  on  the  ocean ;  it  is  trying 
to  break  her,  but  she  in  distress  cuts  through  the 
deep,  groaning  heavily. 

The  mast  cracks,  the  sail  trembles,  frightful  is 
the  depth  of  the  roaring  waters ;  the  wind  struggles 
desperately  with  the  ship  in  a  life  and  death  com- 
bat. 

Now  she  must  lie  down,  now  again  she  must  rise, 
now  she  is  driven  back,  now  forward ;  —  the  ship 
is  a  plaything  of  the  waves  that  swallow  her  up  and 
spit  her  out  again. 

The  ocean  roars,  the  billows  rise,  and  lash,  and 
thunder  in  awful  terror,  the  murderous  storm  wants 
to  destroy  everything,  —  the  abyss  opens  up  its 
closed  jaws. 

There  are  heard  sighs  and  prayers.  Great  is  the 
danger  and  dreadful  the  calamity,  —  and  everybody 
prays  to  his  God  that  He  may  save  and  liberate 
the  people  from  sure  death. 

Children  weep,  women  wail ;  the  people  cry  and 
confess  their  sins ;  souls  flutter,  bodies  tremble  in 
terror  of  the  angry,  destructive  wind. 


unten,  in  3wif(|enbe(f,  flfcen  gmei  Scanner 
rufytg,  fee  titfcrt  ntt  ber  mtnbejhr 
(See  fudjen  fein  SHettung,  fee  Haren  fein 
2Bie  TO  woflt'  fein  jl$er  un'  pill  arum  fee* 


taremt  bag  2Bajfer,  bfe  SBeflen,  fee  fcfjaumen, 
n?ojet,  e^  ntoiet  mefdjwte  ter  2Binb  ; 
ffappet  ber  ^ejfet,  e0  ^ujet  ber  ^omen; 
unten  tie  S^ei,  fe^t,  fee  f^weigen 


<5ee  fucfen  ntit  ^attfeit  bent  Slot  in  bie 
(See  ritfyrt  nit  bem  (Sturem^  gefa^rli^e 
S^  fc^eint,  a^  ber  £ot  pt  atlein  nor  eqogen 
(See  53eiben,  in  (S^red  un'  in  ftnjlerer 


,,2Der  feib  i$r,  Ungliitflt^e,  —  lafjl 
a3  fonnen  »arfc^tt?eigen  bie  gmalbtgfle 
pben  fetn  Sufsen,  un?  fyafcett  fetn 
3lft(e  bei'm  f^rerfttdjen  J^oer  Dun  Jot? 


t,  tjaoen  euc^  tafe  nor  ^mortm  gefcoren  ? 
3^r  lafjl  gar  fetn  (Stteren,  SBeib  ober 
3u  tueinen  auf  euc^,  ttjenn_i|r  tuerb't  ba 
3n  tiefen,  in  f<$recf  licfyen  ^bgrunb 


,,2Bie  ?   Saffl  i^r  nit  $einem,  n?a^  i^m  fot(  t>arbrieffcn, 
2Ba3  er  fott  toenn  Baenfen,  311  lafen  a  Jra^r, 
SGenn  eudj  wet  ber  najfer  S3ej|o(em  sjargieffen, 
SBenn  i^r  wet  ba  fein  Sftat  aurittffe^ren  me^r  ? 

,,ffile?   Wt  i^r  fein  3Satertanb  gar,  fetn 
^etn  ^eim,  aw  gu  fummen,  fetn  freunblt^c 
2Ba3  i^r  prt  be^alten  in  ft*  afa  (Bjlne 
Sum  Seben  un7  wart't  auf  ber  finjhrer 
72 


But  below,  in  the  steerage,  two  men  sit  quietly ; 
no  pain  assails  them ;  they  seek  no  salvation,  they 
make  no  plans,  just  as  if  all  were  safe  and  calm 
about  them. 

The  water  roars,  the  billows  foam;  the  wind 
whines  and  howls  insanely;  the  boiler  gasps,  the 
chimney  buzzes,  —  but  the  men  below,  behold, 
they  are  silent  now  ! 

They  look  coolly  into  the  eyes  of  Death;  the 
dangerous  might  of  the  storm  touches  them  not; 
it  seems  as  though  Death  had  reared  the  two  in 
terror  and  dark  night. 

"  Who  are  you,  wretched  ones,  tell  me,  that  you 
can  suppress  the  most  terrible  sufferings,  that  you 
have  no  sighs  and  no  tears  even  at  the  awful  gates 
of  Death? 

"  Say,  have,  indeed,  graves  brought  you  forth  ? 
Do  you  leave  behind  you  no  parents,  no  wife,  no 
child  who  will  lament  you  when  you  are  lost  here 
in  the  deep  and  dreadful  abyss? 

"  How  ?  Have  you  no  one  to  be  sorry  for  you,  to 
long  for  you,  or  shed  a  tear,  when  the  wet  ceme- 
tery will  cover  you,  when  you  will  no  more  return 
to  this  earth? 

"  How  ?  Have  you  no  fatherland,  no  country,  no 
home  where  to  go  to,  no  friendly  house,  that  you 
bear  such  a  contempt  for  life,  and  are  waiting  for 
the  dark  grave  ? 

73 


,,3fyr  p't  gar  nit  tfeinem  in  £immel  bort  often, 
3u  »emen  ju  fcfyreien,  feenn  ityr  feib  in  3«  ? 
3$r  $a't  gar  fein  SSott  nit,  i$r  $a't  gar  fein  ©lauben? 
23ariorene,  aa*  if  mit  eu$  far  a  ©far?" 


(£$  ganejt  ber  iBgrunt>,  eg  Braufen  bie 
@g  !rad^en  bie  Setter^  »un  ©c^iff,  un?  e^  tragt, 
@g  ^ulet  ber  ©turem,  e0  pfeifen  bie  SBinben, 
Un?  iiner  tyat  enbli^  mit  Xra^ren  gefagt  : 

,,Der  f^roarger  S3e(folem  if  nit  unfer  Gutter, 
9Zit  if  unfer  SBteget  ber  ^een?er  genje'n  ;  — 
(£$  pt  nn^  gefcoren  a  ^ala^  a  guter, 
51  teuere  Gutter,  mit  Ciebe 


,,@^  |at  un^  gepjejlet  a  SDtame,  er^ogen 
21  jartlit^e,  mareme,  freunbli^e  S3ru(l  ; 
©eftc^ett  tin'  ftanbtg  gefucft  in  bie  2lngen 
un^  au(|  a  SSater,  un'  Utility  gefufjl, 


ifja&en  a  ^>au^  nor  men  tjat  (ie 
Un;  unfere  ^etUgfie  ©ac^en  ijarbrennt, 
2)te  SieBfle  un'  33e(le  uarwanbelt  in 
£)ie  fie^te  »arjagt  mit  gebunbene 


fenn^  unfer  2anb,  o,  fie  lajt  fify  berfennen  : 
£>itrd)  3agen,  bur^  ©t^lagen  nit  roerenbig  mitb^ 

twilbe  $)ogromen,  burc^  Srec^en,  bnrt^  S3rennen, 
(Suc^en  bem  Xot  far  bem  elenben  3iib« 


,,Un'  mir  feinen  3uben,  tjarmogelte 
D^n'greunb  un'ofjn'  ^reuben,  o^n'^offnung  auf©lii(I,- 
9lit  fragt  me^r,  o,  fragt  nit,  o,  fe^t,  lafft  gufrieben! 
2lmerifa  treibt  uns  na 


74 


"  Have  you  no  one  in  heaven  above  to  whom  to 
cry  when  you  are  in  trouble  ?  Have  you  no  nation, 
have  you  no  faith?  Miserable  ones,  what  is  your 
destiny?" 

The  abyss  yawns,  the  waves  bellow,  the  ship- 
ladders  crack,  the  storm  rages  madly,  the  winds 
whistle,  —  and  finally  one  said  in  tears  : 


"The  black  cemetery  is  not  our  mother,  the 
grave  has  not  been  our  cradle ;  a  good  angel  has 
borne  us,  a  dear  mother,  endowed  with  love. 


"A  mother  has  fondled  us,  a  tender,  warm, 
friendly  breast  has  nurtured  us ;  a  father,  too,  has 
stroked  us  and  looked  into  our  eyes,  and  kissed  us 
tenderly. 

"  We  have  a  house,  but  it  has  been  destroyed,  and 
our  holy  things  have  been  burned ;  our  dearest  and 
best  have  been  turned  into  bones,  and  those  who 
survive  have  been  driven  away  with  fettered  hands. 

"  You  know  our  country ;  it  is  easily  recognized 
by  its  unceasing  baiting  and  beating,  by  its  cruel 
riots,  its  ruthless  destruction,  and  dealing  death  to 
the  wretched  Jew. 

"  Yes,  we  are  Jews,  miserable  Jews,  without  friends 
or  joys,  without  hopes  of  happiness.  Oh,  ask  us 
no  more,  ask  no  more,  oh,  leave  us  in  peace ! 
America  drives  us  back  to  Russia, 

75 


ftuglanb,  sun  ivannen  mir  fetncn  antloffen, 
Sftufjlanb  berfar,  n>a$  mir  fyaben  fein  ©elb  ; 
2Utf  n?a$  bteibt  uns  itgter  gu  marten,  gu  tjoffen? 
taua;  un3  ba$  2eben,  bte  ftnfiere  SBelt  ? 


,,3§r  Ija't  n?aa  gu  njeinen,  i^r  ^a't  n?a^  au  Brummen, 
3|r  $a't  t»a0  ju  fc^rciJen  P(^  t^t  far  tern  Jot, 
3^r  fca't  gewtg  5ltle  a  $eim,  n?u  gtt  fummen, 
Un;  fa^rt  »un  5lmerifa  auc^  nit  au^  9tot 


mir  feincn  Slcnbe,  gletdj  s«  t)ie  ©tetner  : 
£>ie  (SrV  if  git  f^te^t,  im$  311  f^enlen  an  Drt  — 
9Jttr  fa^rcn,  boi.leiber,  e^  tuart't  auf  itn^  Reiner, 
SrHdrt  mir,  tdj  M  eu^,  tuu  reifcn  mir  fort  ! 


jhirmen  ber  2Binb,  foU  er  fcrummen  mit 
fteben,  foU  !oc^en,  foil  rauf^en  ber  ©runb  ! 
2)enn  ^  fei  tine  '$  fei  feinen  mir  3iit)en  »arloren, 
£)er  3am  nor  uarlofcfyt  unfer  orennenbe 


ic  Si^tdarfdufcrtn 


^57  ^eflerjlrit,  leoen  a 

din  areme  grau  jt^t  bort  a,lei$  311  a 
51  fcetnerner  ^)onim  un'  blei(^  tote  ber  £ot, 
fenntig,  bie  S3adfen  gewe'n  a  3Jial  rot  ; 
SKottag,  un'  greunbfdjaft,  un'  Siebe,  un' 
(See  Ija&en  getuig  ba^  nit  djorero  gemac^t 
@ie  (l^t  bort,  bie  23teidje,  »un  SBeinen  ^atb  fcttnb, 
3^r  S3rufl  gie^t  a  barr'3,  a  ijarmoreteg  ^inb,  — 
Das  faugt,  un'  ba^  tueint,  un'  ba^  f^taft,  un'  mit  SBelj 
(Sprtngt  auf  ba^  <5felettel  »un  ^ame*0  ©efd^rei  : 
r,^duft,  2BeiberIa$,  Si^telac^,  awet  far  brei 
3luf  mir  afa  S'lafeT,  tvie  Udjttg  bas  brennt!" 
76 


"  To  Russia,  whence  we  have  run  away,  to  Russia, 
because  we  have  no  money.  What  is  there  left  for 
us  to  expect,  to  hope  for?  Of  what  good  is  life, 
and  the  gloomy  world  to  us  ? 

"  You  have  something  to  weep  for ;  you  have  rea- 
son to  murmur  and  to  be  afraid  of  death !  You 
have,  no  doubt,  a  home  where  to  go  to,  and  you 
have  left  America  not  from  necessity. 

"  But  we  are  forlorn  and  alone  like  a  rock :  Earth 
is  too  mean  to  give  us  a  resting  place;  we  are 
voyaging,  but,  unfortunately,  no  one  waits  for  us. 
Explain  to  me,  pray,  whither  we  are  bound  ! 

"  Let  storm  the  wind,  let  it  howl  in  anger :  let  the 
deep  seethe,  and  boil,  and  roar !  However  it  be, 
we  Jews  are  lost,  the  ocean  alone  can  allay  our 
burning  wound.  .  .  ." 


The  Candle-Seller 

IN  Hester  street,  near  a  telegraph  post,  a  poor 
woman  sits  like  unto  a  corpse  :  her  face  is  bony 
and  as  pale  as  death,  and  it  is  evident  that  her 
cheeks  have  once  been  red,  but  ease  and  friend- 
ship, and  love  and  glory  are  certainly  not  the  cause 
of  their  desolation.  The  pale  one  sits  there,  half- 
blind  with  weeping,  while  a  weazen,  half- starved 
child  tugs  at  her  breast :  it  suckles,  and  weeps,  and 
sleeps,  and  with  pain  the  little  skeleton  awakens 
from  mama's  crying:  "Buy,  good  women,  some 
candles,  two  for  three  cents  !  May  my  star  shine 
as  brightly  as  these  !  " 

77 


3fjr  (S-^ore  if  winjifl,  itjr  JWrBete  —  Hetn, 
Dodj  fianbtg  ernafyrt  ftd)  bie  <Sc()n?adje  atlein  : 
3n  8djnee  un'  in  Sftegen,  in  grofl  un'  in 
Die  areme  3itbene  fi£t  mit  iljr  $inb  ; 
@ie  fyanbeft  un;  fyanbelt  in  3a*  un'  in 
Doc^  pt  fie  fefn  ^eint,  un?  fetn  $ieit>,  un'  fein  33rot; 
tin'  auf  er  bem  @Iu|),  o  tern  fhtmmen,  mir  f^eint, 
5Sarmogt  (!e  fein  $orem,  fein  ^a^nteren  ^eunt)  ; 
£)o$  c^otf^  (te  if  elent>,  ijartafen  un?  franf, 
SSartangt  fie  »un  ^etnem,  un'  bet't  fein  ©efdjanf,  — 
Wit  @^aBe«4i(^t  tyantelt  PC,  fo  mie  i^r  fetjt, 
Diefeibe  au  faufen,  if  ads,  tva^  fie 


Sefoweb  bem  <2>$aBe3,  tem.^eiltgen 

Sanft  3et>er  in  3Karft,  mit  a  <3ftm<$e,  mit 

@3  tummlen  fic^  SJlenfc^en  a^er  un'  a^in, 

2)o(^  Itegt  tie  33ard)ofd)ec(jte  ^'einem  in 

2Ber  barf  tfjre  areme  Si^tla^,  bie  $aar? 

57ac^  ^leifc^,  unj  nad^  gif$,  nn'  nat^  SBein  lauft  men 

£)te  ©c^rna^e  flettt  aus  i^re  magere  ^anV: 

t,  SBei&erladj,  St^telac^,  gtrei  far  brei  (Sent  I" 
»er  prt  i^r  Steben?  SSartoren  tuerb  bort 
(Stimme  bie  fd^mac^e  ;  men  tyort  nit  a  SBort, 

bie  3epme  bie  Heine  in  ©djoof,  — 
prt  ?Wame^  (Scfyreien,  boc^  m$  fummt 


,  t»ie  fang  wet  bort  t)<wblen  in 
Die  elenb  ©eHieBene,  franfli(|  nn'  blag  ? 
2Bte  lang  fann  fie  letben  noc^  hunger  nn' 
@i^  rangtenbig  ra!  mit  bem  f^redti^en  Slot  ? 
2Bte  (ang,  o,  tuie  lang  »et  bie  areme  SBetfc 
fpeifen  bem  5^efef^  tva^  liegt  M  bem 
Wai  pflegt  ba^  ^tnb  ^otf$  berfcfytingen  a 

i^t,  fame's  Sugen,  fee  tveinen  nit  meljr.  .  .  , 
78 


Her  wares  are  few,  and  her  basket  is  small,  but 
the  weak  woman  earns  her  sustenance  through  this 
alone.  In  snow  and  in  rain,  in  frost  and  in  wind, 
the  poor  Jewess  sits  there  with  her  child ;  she  trades 
and  trades  in  sorrow  and  in  pain,  and  yet  she  has 
no  home,  no  garment,  and  no  bread ;  and  besides 
that  silent  post,  it  seems  to  me,  she  has  no  relatives, 
no  near  friend ;  but  though  she  is  miserable,  for- 
lorn, and  sick,  she  begs  from  no  one,  and  asks  no 
gift :  —  she  sells  Sabbath  candles,  as  you  see,  and 
all  she  asks  is  that  people  should  buy  them. 


To  honor  the  Sabbath,  the  holy  visitant,  every- 
body hurries  to  the  market  place,  with  joy  in  his 
heart.  People  swarm  in  all  directions,  but  no  one 
thinks  of  the  wretched  woman.  There  is  no 
time  to  care  for  a  few  of  her  candles,  while  they 
are  all  hastening  to  buy  meat,  fish,  and  wine.  The 
weak  woman  stretches  out  her  lean  hands  :  "  Buy, 
good  women,  candles,  two  for  three  cents ! "  but 
who  hears  what  she  says?  Her  feeble  voice  is  lost 
there ;  no  one  hears  a  word  but  the  little  orphan  in 
her  lap,  —  she  hears  mama's  crying,  but  that  is  of 
no  avail. 

Pray,  how  long  will  that  wretched,  sickly,  and 
pale  woman  trade  there  in  the  street  ?  How  much 
longer  can  she  suffer  hunger  and  privations,  strug- 
gling all  the  time  with  terrible  death  ?  How  long, 
oh,  how  long  will  the  poor  woman  feed  the  being 
that  nestles  to  her  body?  Formerly  the  child  used 
to  swallow  a  tear,  but  now,  mama's  eyes  weep  no 
79 


9Ut  ba  metjr  tetn  Xra^ren,  bet  Sttoadj  if  lefjr, 
£>a$  £er$  if  gu&roc&en,  ber  2lttyem  if  fitter  ; 
£)ie  Stppen  nor  mnrmlen  no$  faum  an$  mtt 
,,flauft  <Sdja6e3*Iic&t,  2Beifcerta<$,  tauft  $otfd>  a  jroet  !  " 

3n  £ejhrjrrtt,  fttfl  «n'  ttarlafett,  atlein, 
21  3ojfemct  jle^t  fcort,  a  ^orfcele  Hein, 
2)erbei  jl£t  a  fatter,  ttargtiwerter  Xru)),  — 
£>ie  arcme  ©joc^crte,  tctcn  a  <5lup. 
2)ertt>eirc  ^at  Reiner  fcemerft  not^  tern 
(£3  feinen  bte  JReid^c  ttartpn  tntt  tern 
^eunt  t»cr  reb%  bie  frumme,  tie  fofdjere 
@ee  pben  gen?ig  @re»*f$ci6e$  fein 
2lfo  if  bie  Scene  at»eg  nit  betra^t't, 
23t$  tangfam  un'  (liK  if  gefummen  bie 
©efummen  if  au<^  »itn  bent  plige 

men  in 


if  i^t  Itfttig,  un' 

£)er  Safen  fingt  fitg,  $fle  pren  p    ein  ;  — 
Do(^  feas  if  bie  5^'nore  afo  n?ie  in  2:raum  ? 
2)te  Sicfyt,  tt>e(c^e  fletfen  bort,  fc^miin!(en  fi$  faum  !  « 
£)ie  2t4tfa4  —  fee  feinen  bod),  n>eift  bu  ed  nit?  — 
£>er  grau^,  »a^  if  fritter  geftorfcen  in  @trit 
X)a^  ^a^en  bie  SRet^e,  bie  gritmme 
gar  ityr  mit  i^r  ^inb  ba  gu  Brennen  bie 
£)ie  SReic^e,  bie  grnmme,  fee  weiffen  bie 
(See  gunben  ba^  an  ber  ©eftorfcener^ 
£)ie  3tetc^e,  bie  grumme,  n?a^  art  fee  a  ©uf  ? 
,  ba$,  fe^t  i^r,  ba^  ^e&en  fee  ttf*  «  , 


D,  ^eiltge  8i$t  !  3^r  fefb  (£ebe$  ajiinb, 
W*  «R5t  $5t  berf^lagen  ba  Gutter  un' 
21^  ba,  wu  ^tUionen  fcarnu&t  men  ^um  (Spa§, 
I)a  lajjt  men  ^ar^ungeren  ^enfc^cn  in  ©ajf  ; 
80 


more.  .  .  .  There  are  no  more  tears,  the  brain  is 
empty,  the  heart  is  broken,  the  breath  is  heavy ;  the 
lips  barely  murmur  in  pain :  "  Buy  Sabbath  candles, 
good  women,  buy  but  two  of  them !  " 

In  Hester  street,  quiet,  forlorn,  and  alone, 
orphaned  stands  there  —  a  basket  small ;  close  by 
sits  a  stark  cold  body,  —  the  poor  candle- seller, 
near  the  post.  No  one  as  yet  has  noticed  the 
corpse,  for  the  rich  are  now  busy  with  their  feast- 
ing, and  as  for  the  good,  pious,  people,  —  they 
certainly  have  no  time  on  the  Sabbath  eve.  And 
so  the  incident  passed  away  unnoticed,  until,  slowly 
and  quietly,  the  night  came,  and  with  it,  from  her 
holy  abode,  came  also  Princess  Sabbath,  —  now 
people  go  to  the  Synagogue.  .  .  . 


In  the  Synagogue  all  is  light,  and  clean,  and 
solemn ;  the  cantor  sings  sweetly,  all  listen  in  de- 
votion ;  but  why  does  the  chandelier  look  as  if  in  a 
dream  ?  The  candles  that  are  placed  on  it  barely 
twinkle  !  The  candles,  do  you  not  guess  it,  are 
those  of  the  woman  who  but  lately  died  in  the 
street.  The  rich  and  the  pious  have  bought  them, 
that  they  might  burn  that  night  for  her  and  her 
child;  the  rich  and  the  pious,  they  know  their 
duty,  —  they  have  lit  the  candles  of  the  dead 
woman ;  the  rich  and  the  pious,  —  what  care  they 
for  the  body?  Souls,  you  see,  they  have  to  save.  .  . 

O  holy  candles  !  You  are  now  witnesses  that 
misery  has  killed  mother  and  child,  that  there 
where  millions  are  spent  for  pleasure,  people  are 
allowed  to  starve  in  the  street;  where  money  is 

6  81 


,  aitf  SuritS  n?u  (Mb  toerb 
3f  far  bent  ®ebrudten  »arfc$Ioffen  bie 
Se^alft  euer  glamm',  o,  i^r  tyeilige  Si 
53ig  jenem  attmat^tigen  £ag  ttun  ©eric^t! 
Un;  bann,  fear  ©eredjtfgteft'S  ^immlif^en 
3^r  reine  ^efc^omeg^Ii^t,  bann  gitnb't  ft(^  an ! 
Un'  foil  euer  ^lamrn'  fagen  (Sebe^  auf  bent, 
Un'  foU  er  »arbammen  bie  falfc&e 


82 


lavished  on  honors  and  luxury,  the  hands  are  closed 
for  the  oppressed.  Keep  your  flame,  O  holy  can- 
dles, up  to  the  terrible  day  of  judgment !  And  then 
be  lit  again,  you  pure  lights,  for  the  soul,  before  the 
heavenly  throne  of  justice,  and  may  your  flame  bear 
witness,  and  condemn  the  false  system  !  .  .  . 


MISCELLANEOUS 


J 


jene  23ergla$  fcorten, 
'3n  an  itmettgen  £l)al, 
Siegt  an  alter  Sotengarten, 


2l(te  ^njorim,  flummc  ©tetner, 
2)t(!  mtt  SSftodj  bema^f^n,  gritn;  — 
©tiff  if  fcorten,  felten  (Siner 
SBagt  ftdj  no(^  gu  ge|n  a^in* 


Sllte  2Bcrbe3,  t>arre  Saunter 

trauerta,  an^eg,  — 

,  f^meigen,  fiifle  Jraumer, 
SBarfen  ©raul  »un  ftd^  mi' 


ijargmeifelt  warft  fein  Sleugel 
t>ie  S3erglac^,  mtt  a  Se^, 
£>er  gef^madfjler  @inger*»oegelf 


j 


Jrauerlteblac^  f!ngt  er, 
@prtngent>ig  fcun  @fen!  gu  ©fetil  t  — 
Bar  bte  flitmme  ^)effer  flingt  er 
SWit  a  gottlic^en  ©elenf. 
86 


The  Cemetery  Nightingale 

T)ETWEEN  the  hills  of  a  melancholy  valley 
JD  there  lies  an  old  garden  of  the  dead,  with 
tombstones  without  end. 


Old  graves,  silent  stones,  thickly  overgrown  with 
moss,  and  green ;  —  all  is  quiet,  seldom  one  ven- 
tures to  show  himself  there. 


Old  willows,  withered  trees  look  around  in  sad- 
ness, —  stand  in  silence,  still  dreamers,  and  spread 
awe  and  terror  around  them. 


In  despair  and  in  pain  the  sweetest  singing  bird, 
the  cemetery  nightingale,  casts  his  eyes  upon  the 
hills. 


Sweet  songs  of  sorrow  he  sings,  flitting   from 
branch  to  branch,  and  attunes  his  divine  instru- 
ment for  the  silent  dreamers. 
87 


21$,  fete  jtttren  fetne  Sreflen 
3fetf$eit  Jene  $n>orim  bort ! 
£)a»!e  t)ort  if  ifjm  gefaflen 
(stngen,  auf  bem  ®uten*£)rt 


9tit  »un  Srityltng'S  fiifj  en  SBetter, 
9ttt  &un  @ngel,  nit  *wn  ©otter 
(Singt  ter  e^rlic^er  ^)oet  ; 
9ltt  »un  gelber,  nit  sun 


»un  $wortm,  t»a^  er 


(Stenb  fefjt  er,  57ot  un' 
SBunben  tragt  er  tief  in  £er$en, 
9lit  getinbert,  nit  geflittt;  — 
»em  grogen 

er  trauertge 
©timmt  er  an  fein  Jparf  un'  fpielt 


git  bie  tinmen  in 

8eBen'«  Wonjie  Winter,  (grbrt  Sprung, 
'  gelufc^t,  gewebt  »un  (Stfyer  un' 
eingige  »artraute  ^ameraben  ! 
f  was  feib  al^  gru^UngggajV  t>a  eingelaben,— 
3ufrtetene  nor  fummt  ttyr  in  S3erii^rung, 
oleiot  i§r  bem,  wa^  feert  in  9lot  »arfatten. 


Suer  ©lanj  nor  f<$mef$elt  gu  tie  fatte  33rwim, 
2Ba3  ber  ^afel  ^at  befc^onfen  nor  mit  ®Iiirf  en  : 
£>em,  wa0  ber  lafurner  ^tntmel  djanfet,  glan^t  i^m, 
^ummt  i^r  djeenetobfg  nod^,  S3(umen,  itn;  befranjt  itjrn  ; 
fjremb  ^aroleibt  i^r  aber  bem,  n?a^  in  3nuim 
23aVt  (ic^  bort,  l»u  2eben^  fdfyroere  Saflen  briiden, 
88 


Oh,  how  his  trills  vibrate  among  these  graves ! 
Of  all  places  he  has  chosen  this,  the  "  good  place  " 
in  which  to  sing. 


Not  of  spring's  balmy  weather,  not  of  angels,  not 
of  Gods  the  honest  poet  sings ;  not  of  fields,  not  of 
rivers  which  now  belong  to  the  rich,  but  of  graves 
which  he  sees. 

He  sees  misery,  oppression  and  pain  ;  he  carries 
wounds  deep  in  his  heart,  which  are  not  soothed, 
not  staunched.  Upon  the  great  cemetery  of  the 
world  he  groans  sad  psalms,  attunes  his  harp  and 
plays  upon  it. 


To  the  Flowers  in  Autumn 

FLOWERS,  most  beautiful  children  of  life,  orna- 
ments of  earth,  sun-kissed,  woven  of  ether  and 
sunbeams,  only  trusty  comrades  of  love,  who  are 
hailed  here  as  guests  in  spring,  you  come  in  contact 
only  with  those  who  are  contented,  you  remain 
strangers  to  him  who  has  fallen  into  adversity. 

Your  splendor  smiles  only  upon  well-fed  people 
on  whom  destiny  has  showered  fortunes;  you, 
flowers,  come  with  gracious  smile  and  adorn  him 
whom  the  azure  sky  flatters  with  its  sunshine  ;  but 
you  remain  strangers  to  him  who  is  drowned  in  sor- 
row where  the  heavy  burdens  of  life  oppress  him. 
89 


S)ort,  nw  Curus,  Sfjuspe  un'  ©emeintjeit 
£eben  bie  mit  (£tyrlt$fett  gefarfcte  gliigel, 
Dort  fcejlngen  eudj  ber  Diane's  fiige  £oner, 
@atte  grauen  patfttyen  SBramo,  fatte  banner; 
Dorten  gtanst  i^r  auf  tie  S3rufl  »un  freeze  ©c 

nem  (Ste 


5Darum  art  mid^  f£t  nit,  tuenn  i(^  fe^  eu$  flarBen, 
^iimmert  mi4  nit,  wetm  i«  ^or'  bem  ^erBjlmtnb  fcrummem 
9lit  far  mir  Ja't  itjr  geblii^t  in  liekn  (Summer, 
«mt  gu  mir  ^a't  i^r  a,ef$met<$elt  in  mein  Summer,— 
'$  fei  nrie  '«  fei  nor  feinen  fremb  mir  eu're  garden,— 
SBelft  !  3^  iaV  far  eu<$  lein  STra'^r,  i^r  f^oene  23htmen  ! 


l  Xraum 

if  jHtt  arum, 
jtorben,  (lumm, 

tfein  @*orc^,  lein  Diep«,  fein 

3n  Xieffeit  »un  t>er 

2Bte  burt^  a  3^^ 

Setueifl  fie  |l^  »ar  mir. 

31  Honbe,  f^oene  SBeiB, 
2Bie  ©djnee  if  weig  i^r 
sftor  blag  bie  S3ato,  Hag ;  — 
£>ie  ©gutter  fe(l  un'  ?(ar, 
SSargiert  mit  golb'ne  £aar, 
nag  bie  3lugen,  nag* 
90 


There  where  luxury,  impudence,  and  vulgarity 
raise  their  wings  that  are  painted  in  colors  of  hon- 
esty, the  sweet  sounds  of  the  piano  sing  of  you, 
while  well-fed  men  and  women  applaud ;  there  you 
shine  upon  the  breasts  of  impudent  beauties,  and 
crown  the  polished  mirror  of  wantonness. 

Therefore  I  do  not  care  if  I  see  you  dying  now ; 
I  do  not  care,  —  hearing  the  howling  of  the  autumn 
wind.  You  did  not  bloom  for  me  in  lovely  sum- 
mer, you  did  not  smile  on  me  in  my  sorrow ;  in- 
deed your  colors  are  strange  to  me.  Fade  !  I 
have  no  tear  for  you,  beautiful  flowers ! 


Liberty 
A  Dream 

WHEN  everything  is  quiet  all  around,  as  silent 
as  if  dead,  and  there  is  no  rustle,  no  sound, 
no  stir,  —  in  the  depth  of  night,  as  if  by  magic,  she 
appears  before  me. 


A  beautiful  blond  woman,  her  body  is  as  white 
as  snow,  but  pale  her  cheeks  are,  pale  ;  her  strong 
shoulders  are  clearly  defined  and  adorned  with 
golden  hair,  but  wet  her  eyes  are,  wet. 


(ste  furfi  mi4  an  un'  f4»etgt, 
£e&t  auf  fcie  £anfc'  un?  jetgt: 
(£$  ^angt  a  $etf  arab  ;  — 
34  fttW  i4 
Un'  enbUd^  mit  ©ewein 
SSarlangt  fle:  ,, 


ttterb 
lauf  mit  fd^nelle  Srltf 


51  ©^lang',  —  i  lang  i  tidf, 


SDod)  f^recflt^  if  tier 
a  Styraperet  : 


,  macfyt  Me  grei^eit  fret!" 


afletn 
a 

@«  riUjrt  (14  nit  »nn  gled. 
£>,  ruf  fee  ja  su  nit, 
@0  §ebt  fi4  nit  a  Sritt, 
e«  nemmt  fein  @fof,  fein 


er  !ann  fe^n  ta«  S5ilt> 
Un;  foU  nit  wet'en  »ilb  ;  — 
SKsfoffottfetn,  a@fof! 


3)5  fc^reit  e3  :    r,2Citt»er 
34  4<*W'  P4  tt 

92 


She  looks  at  me  and  is  silent;  she  raises  her 
hands  and  points  wit^  Lhem  :  A  chain  hangs  down 
from  her ;  I  am  sure,  I  understand  her  meaning, 
and  finally,  in  tears,  she  asks  :  "  Untie  me  !  " 


My  heart  is  burning,  and  I  rush  with  rapid  steps, 
and  seize  the  chain.  Alas,  I  fall  back,  —  a  ser- 
pent, long  and  thick,  is  twined  about  it. 


I  cry,  I  call,  I  chide,  but  terrible  is  their  sleep, 
I  hear  but  snoring.  "  Rise,  oh,  rise  quickly,  and  let 
there  be  light !  Come,  make  liberty  free  !  " 


There  is  a  silence.  Only  I  alone  exert  myself, 
but  as  soon  could  I  wake  stones.  No  one  moves 
from  the  spot ;  whether  I  call  them  or  not,  not  a 
foot  is  raised, — there  is  no  end,  no  cessation  (to 
her  suffering). 


But  who  can  see  the  picture  and  not  grow  wild  ? 
Let  there  be  an  end,  an  end  !  I  throw  myself  into 
the  danger,  and  I  hear  a  voice :  "  Senseless  fool ! " 
and  I  awake  from  my  sleep. 


93 


\ 


s 


triUert  ber  tf  anartf 
3n  freten  SBalb  aflein,— 
SBer  fann  fein  (Sflmdje  fit^Icn  ? 
2Ber  fann  fein  greW 


@g  trtHert  ber  ^anari! 
3n  reic^flen  ^olaj  fcfyoen,  — 
2Ber  fann  fein  SBefjtag  fii^ten? 
2Cer  fann  fein  ©djmerj  ^ 


§u  bte  2Beituarfci}Hngcr 

e^r,  a  ®i(fcl  fnapper, 


^abewejl  bit, 

^  wilbe  3aa,en, 
SBenn  ba^  ijarBteitt  bem  $eett>et'$ 
Un'  3lfle^  tt>a«  bu  pfl  erworbcn, 
SBet  me^r  fein  Jag  fcetagen  ! 


fdjttwrjer  ^o([e*mann  tt»et  fnmmen 
Un'  toet  bie  Corner  mie  bie  33Iumen 
SSun  Se^en^fetb  varf^neiben  ; 
£>u  magfl  wie  fejl  (t(^  gegen  jietten, 
X)er  2ot  mug  ^oren  3eit^  S3efel)fen 
Un'  ^ein'm  un'  ^einem  meiben* 
94 


The  Canary 

THE  canary  warbles  alone  in  the  free  forest : 
—  Who  can  feel  his  joy,  who  can  understand 
his  pleasure? 

The  canary  warbles  in  the  richest  palace  sweetly : 
—  Who  can  feel  his  sorrow,  who  can  understand 
his  pain? 


To  the  Fortune-hunters 

A  LITTLE  more,  a  little  less,  —  why  do  you 
hunt  in  vain  after  shadows?    Wherefore  this 
wild  chase?    All  that  will  become  the  possession 
of  the  grave,  and  all  that  you  have  gained  will  not 
last  a  day. 


The  black  reaper  will  come,  and  he  will  cut  down 
the  flowers  as  well  as  the  thorns  on  the  field  of  life. 
You  may  oppose  yourself  with  all  your  main,  Death 
must  listen  to  the  commands  of  Time,  and  cannot 
leave  out  any  one. 

95 


'&  »arlafen 

£)ein  9ftut,  bein  $raft  un;  bein 


falter  <S$aum  fcegief  t  tie  Sippen,  — 

fummt  Me 
£)em  Se6en'g  le^te 


rufjl  urn  $tlf  un;  Btei^fl  fcetrogen, 
fe^ji  t>ie  Snte  ijun  betn  Sagen, 
pjl  bit  ba  ermorben  ? 

2Cu  if  beta  ®IM  ?   D,  armer  3ager  ! 

S^  fummen  falte  9Wite*trager, 

21  Settler  if  gejiorkn! 

21  S3i(fel  metyr,  a  SBtjfel  fnapper, 
@^  geijt  arum  an  alter 
2Ba$  offent  atte  ©c^Io 
Un'  d&appt  au  2lEg  wn; 
Un'  marft  e^  in  bte  (lumme 


berlangt  a 

fattt  a  triifceS  SBetter, 
@g  welft  in  gelb  bag  twn 
Der  23aum  ijarltert  bie  flatter* 


<£rV  flel)t  ^o^I  un^  naclet  Balb, 


£)er  $oea,el  [Ingt  in  grofen  SQalb 
Un'  wecft  ju  b'  erjle 

96 


In  the  end,  broken  down,  your  courage,  your 
strength  and  your  glory  leave  you,  O  terrible  sedi- 
tion !  A  cold  foam  covers  your  lips,  —  Death 
comes  to  unravel  the  last  enigma  of  life. 


You  call  for  help,  and  are  deceived,  —  you  see 
the  end  of  your  chase.  What  have  you  earned? 
Where  is  your  fortune  ?  O  poor  hunter !  The 
cold  pall-bearers  come,  —  a  beggar  has  died ! 


A  little  more,  a  little  less,  —  an  old  robber  goes 
around  who  opens  all  locks ;  he  seizes  everything, 
and  everything,  and  throws  it  into  the  silent  waves 
of  the  Stygian  waters. 


September  Melodies 


The  ram's-horn  man  has  blown  his  blast,  there 
falls  a  dismal  weather ;  the  young  grass  withers  in 
the  field ;  the  tree  loses  its  leaves. 


The  earth  soon  becomes  naked   and   bare, — 
there  is  an  end  to  its  glory.    The  bird  sings  hi  the 
large  forest  and  calls  to  the  first  prayers  of  mourning. 
7  97 


fmgt  fo  umetig,  fo  fug, 
®'fegnen*Iieb,  mijiome ; 

a  ftemm,  ba3  tyut  a 
&etber«Kefd)ottte! 


rauft^t  ber  SBart),  e^  fcefjt  ter  2Btnt>, 
©c^recf  nemmt  an  bie  Xraumer  ;  — 
fummt  a  Som^ctbtn  agiint> 
nj  au 


0,  50?enf^en  !  Saunter  in  bent  SBalb  J 
3^r  fyort  tie  (Sturent^  fnatfen  ? 
3it  iung  su  alt,  su  frat  a 
t»et  eu$  3lUe  §atfen  ! 


n 

D,  laltlfdj  im'  toinbig, 
2)er  @fof  »nn  bent  (Summer! 
(5^  mellen  bte  33lumen  in 
2)ie  (Sd^oen^eiten  fcfyttnnben ; 
3n  totlid^en  (B^Iummer 
3P  5ltte0  »arwiegt  mit  a 


£>er  (Sturem,  er  fc&Ieubert 
£)ie  trucfene  flatter, 
3ntragt  bas  ttarjloroene  3tott ; 
£)er  SBalb  raufd^t  a  SCibut,  — 
21  2BeiUn!e  fpater 
SSarjlummt  aud|  bag  ^efligfle 
98 


He  sings  so  sadly,  so  sweetly,  —  no  doubt  a  song 
of  parting,  and  that  touches  and  tears  your  heart. 


The  woods  rustle,  the  wind  blows,  terror  seizes 
the  dreamers  :  the  day  of  judgment  has  come  now 
on  little  trees  and  big  trees. 


O  people  !  Trees  of  the  forest !  Do  you  hear 
the  howling  of  the  storm  ?  Whether  young  or  old, 
late  or  soon,  you  will  all  be  mowed  down  !  .  .  . 


II 

Oh,  't  is  cold  and  windy,  there  is  an  end  of  sum- 
mer !  The  flowers  wither  in  the  valley ;  all  beau- 
ties disappear,  and  suddenly  all  is  rocked  into 
slumber  of  death. 


The  storm  hurls  down  the  dry  leaves,  and  dis- 
perses the  dead  flowers.  The  forest  rustles  its  last 
confession,  and  a  little  later  even  the  holiest  song 
will  cease. 


99 


SSoegetad)  flngen 


Un;  wenten  gum  3am  fejer  SBlfrf, 

(Mie&te,  nwfnefjti^r? 

$3ie  wett  fort,  an  (Sredj  ? 

Un;  fagt  mir  :   SBemt  fummt  i$r  gurutf  ? 

S^  giefen  p$  fcttter 
SBe^melobien, 
Sntfcr  fcerfcmgt  afa  Drudf: 
njeiffen  nor  Sltte, 
mufen  »arflte^enf 
©ott  weig  »ittt  ^ummcn  gururf!" 


ber  S3ore  ^at  oeft^affen 
Unfer  wunberf^oene  SBeft, 
Sr  nit  gefragt  i>et 


nac^  fein  eignem 
fcitt  etgttem  tylan 
@r  fyat  lang  genug 

Un'  (Er  i)at  cs  gut 


SCcnn  Sr  if  gum  5D^enf$  gefummen, 
3f  eg  n^  9^9<^gcn  gTatt,  — 
W  Sr  pt  gunaufgerufen 
@etn  geflitgeltcn  @cnat  : 

,,£ort  mt^  aug,  i§r  meine  ©botim! 

F  id^  a^cr  gefcradjt, 
foUt  mir  au  (£qe  geBen, 
2Bic  ter  23^enW  [off  feitt  gcma^t 

100 


The  birds  sing  their  song  of  passage  and  turn 
their  eyes  towards  the  ocean.  Beloved,  where  do 
you  fly?  Pray,  tell  me  how  far  away?  and  tell  me 
when  will  you  return? 


The  woeful  melodies  are  poured  forth  in  bitter- 
ness, and  the  painful  answer  is :  "  We  all  know  only, 
we  must  fly  away,  but  God  knows  of  coming  back  !  " 


Creation  of  Man 

WHEN  the  Lord  created  our  wonderful  world, 
He  asked  nobody's  advice,  and  did  as  He 
pleased, — 


All  after  His  own  will,  in  accordance  with  His 
own  plans  :  He  worked  at  it  long,  and  He  did  it  well. 


When  he  was  about  to  create  man,  things  did  not 
go  so  well  with  Him,  and  he  summoned  His  winged 
Senate : 


"  Listen  to  me,  you  my  mighty  ones,  I  have  called 
you  here  that  you  may  proffer  me  your  advice  how 
man  is  to  be  made. 

101 


,,$elft  mir,  Winter,  itym  fcef^affen, 
Sfcer  fudt  flcfy  gut  arum  ! 
(£r  mu$  fein  in  imS  gerat^en  ; 


,,£)entt  idj  Iron'  ifym  far  a  £errf$er, 
Un'  idj  fd^enf  i^m  »un  ntein 
(5r  fott  frei  be^errfd^en  fontten 
2uft  un?  Srb'  un'  au^  tern  3a 


,$attett  foH  i?ar  i^m  ber 
3n  ter  Suften,  »ar  fein 
@ott  ber  gtfdj  in  Baffer  fallen, 
Un'  t>er  filter  Soeb  in 


<2>enat  pt  ftd^  berfc^rotfen; 


SBenn  er  fott  bic  Suft  fce 
er  no$  in  £tmme! 


;  fee  §aBen  ©ott  ge^entfert  : 
'  t>em  9ftenfdj  nac^  unfer 
i$m  ©fee^el,  gieB  i^m 
fein  Bluel   ie&  im  nit 


,,9letn,  er  tor  !ein 
Sr  wet  flie^en  mtt  tern 
9ltt  fcetreten  fott  bent 

errfd&t  auf  biefer 


/'  fat  ©ott  ge-entfert, 
SRif^pet,  er  if  fein  ; 
ein  3lu^na^m^  n?itt  i^  nta^en, 
ein  2Ut$nam',  —  ort  lc  ein! 


102 


"  Help  me,  children,  to  create  him,  but  take  good 
counsel.  He  must  resemble  us,  and  he  must  be 
without  faults  and  without  blemish, 


"  For  I  shall  crown  him  as  a  ruler,  and  I  shall  give 
him  of  my  flame :  he  shall  freely  rule  over  air,  and 
earth,  and  ocean. 


"  Before  him  shall  fall  the  bird  in  the  air,  before 
his  might  shall  fall  the  fish  in  the  water  and  the  wild 
lion  in  the  chase." 


The  Senate  became  frightened :  "  If  man,  who 
is  nothing  but  foam  and  smoke,  were  to  rule  the  air, 
he  would  soon  enter  heaven." 


And  they  answered  God :  "  Make  him  in  our 
image ;  give  him  reason,  give  him  power,  but  give 
him  no  wings  ! 


"  No,  he  shall  have  no  wings,  for  he  will  fly  with 
his  sword !  Let  him  not  enter  heaven  who  rules 
upon  that  earth  !  " 


"  You  are  right,"  God  answered,  "  your  decision 
is  good ;  but  one  exception  I  shall  make,  but  one  ex- 
ception !  Listen  to  me  1 

103 


,,£)er  $oet  fofl  fein  geflitgelt, 
(£r  fcefummt  mein  Jjocfjfhn 
£)ffnen  nrifl  t$  nteine  £tmmlen 
gar  bent  Siftetjier  »un  ©efang, 


,,Un'  i(^  wae^r  ijun  eudj  a 
@r  [off  greit  fein  2:ag  un' 
3§nt  bte  glitglen  an^it^eften, 
SCenn  fein  $e%  2ieb  erwarjt" 


3n  bet  SKtWcr 


in  meiten 
Soegete  afletn 
Un*  fudft  (tc^  urn  ijarumert, 
Un1  jlngt  a  Stebel  fc^oen. 

©ein  §immel*fuf  e  ©timmc 
2Bie  retnjler  ®tna,otb  fltef  t, 
Un1  toedft  bte  latte  ©tetner, 
tueit 


@r  toedTt  We  tote  gelfen, 
X)te  fiumme  S3erg  arum,  — 
Heiben  tot  tie  Sote, 
@tumme  Het&en  (lumm* 


wemen,  fitger  (Singer, 
£>,  flina.t  teitt  Better  Xon? 
2Ber  tjort  Wd&  nn1  tver  fu^It 
Un'  wemen  ge^jt  bu  an? 
104 


"  Let  the  poet  be  winged  !  He  shall  get  my  highest 
rank !    I  will  open  the  heavens  to  the  master  of 

songs. 


"And  I  shall  choose  an  angel  among  you  who 
shall  be  ready  day  and  night  to  attach  the  wings  to 
him  whenever  his  holy  song  will  rise." 


i 


In  the  Wilderness 

N  a  distant  wilderness  a  bird  stands  alone  and 
looks  about  him  sadly,  and  sings  a  beautiful  song. 


His  heavenly-sweet  voice  flows  like  the  purest 
gold,  and  wakens  the  cold  stones  and  the  prairie 
wide  and  deserted. 


He  wakens  the  dead  rocks  and  the  silent  moun- 
tains round  about,  —  but  the  dead  remain  dead, 
and  the  silent  remain  silent. 


For  whom,  sweet  singer,  do  your  clear  tones  re- 
sound ?  Who  hears  you,  and  who  feels  you  ?  And 
whose  concern  are  you  ! 


105 


£)u  rnagjl  bein  gcm^e  <5eele 
2lreintf)0tt  ttt  bein  Sieb,  — 
3n  l^arten  ©tetn,  in  falten 
bertueclft  bu  nit 


lang  weft  bu  ba  flngett, 


un' 


25un 


Umfiijl  if  tt?a^  bu  flei 
£)a^  fann  nit  l^elfen,  nein  ! 
5ltlein  Mjl  bu  gefummen, 
Un'  n?el  ailein 


106 


You  may  put  your  whole  soul  into  your  singing, 
you  will  not  awaken  a  heart  in  the  hard,  cold  rock. 


You  will  not  sing  there  long,  —  I  feel  it,  I  know  it : 
your  heart  will  soon  burst  with  loneliness  and  woe. 


In  vain  is  your  endeavor,  it  will  not  help  you,  no  'f 
Alone  you  have  come,  and  alone  you  will  pass  away  ! 


107 


GLOSSARY 


ABBREVIATIONS. 

.£.  — English.    F.  —  French.     G.  —  German.    H.  —  Hebrew. 
Lat.  —  Latin.    /'.  —  Polish.    ^.  —  Russian.    .S/.  — Slavic. 


besides.    H. 

afile,  even.    H. 

antloffen,  run  away.     G. 

atttf<J)lafen,  fallen  asleep.     G. 

antfrfjtoiegen,  grown  silent    G. 

amoeren,  lose.    G. 

^Ipreter,  operative  in  sweat- 
shop. E. 

arcn,  care;  c§  art  mtd&  nit,  I 
do  not  care.  G. 

arumroafdjen,  wash  (the  body). 
G. 

a§,  that.     G. 

ofa,  such  a.    G. 

ofo,  so.     G. 

offad),  much.    H. 

aufdjappen  fid),  be  startled, 
awaken.  SI. 

auSfpreitcn  fid),  be  scattered. 
G. 

ajtinb,  now.    G. 

ajUnbcr,  now.     G. 

99aenfen,  long  for.    G. 
SBal^olcm,  genius  of  dreams. 
H. 


G. 


5?al:t)aguf,  male  person. 
Safemalfc,  princess.    //. 
belangen,  belong.    G. 
benfdjen,  bless.    F. 
bcfd^cibt,  certain.     G. 
bef$onfen,  presented  with. 
befprcit,  covered.    G. 
33cffolmcn,  cemetery.    //. 
Skjjofcm,  cemetery.    H. 
bcttcifcn  ft^i  appear. 
bibnc,  poor.    P. 
btflrc,  quick.    R. 
»Ia8,  breath.     G. 
93ocferr  anger.    G, 
SBore,  Creator.    //. 
Soft,  boss.    E. 
botcl,  empty.    H. 
brcitli$r  comfortably. 
53ruimf  creatures. 
33fomim,  spices.    H. 
shame.    H. 


//. 


(7. 


,  months.    //. 
,  armies.    //. 
,  dreams.    //. 
d^anfcncn,  flatter.    //. 


109 


,  seize.    SI. 
fid),  rush  at.    SI. 
,  kidnapper.    67. 
(£I)af  en,  cantor  in  synagogue.  If. 
Gfiatoer,  comrade.    /£ 
(£&att>eerim,  comrades.    H. 
Gfieebet,  elementary  school.  H. 
gheelef,  share.    ^. 
Sheen,  grace.    H. 
djeenetobtg,  graciously.    H. 
Gfieefdje!,  zest.    H. 
(£fiefd)i)en,  number.    H, 
(Pet,  sin.    ^. 
ibe,  riddle.    H. 

_,  life.    ^. 
(£I)ir0ne§,  faults.    H. 
djlipen,  sob.    ^. 
Gfiolettt,  dream.    ZT. 
cf)0tett),  destroyed.    H. 
Sljojjen,  bridegroom.     /K 
(£&ofjen=!ale,  bridegroom  and 

bride.    H. 

djotfd),  although,  at  least.    SI 
©fitoperei,  snoring.    JR. 
Sfjfobint,  mercies.    H. 
e,  ruin.     H. 
e,  insolence.    H. 
(£timleS,  billows.    ,57. 
Gort^auS,  courthouse.    E. 

S)ad)t  ftd^,  it  seems.     G. 

boleb  s^lme§,  four  cubits.  H. 
No  one  may  approach  an 
excommunicated  person 
within  four  cubits. 

barfen,  be  obliged  to.    G. 

barr,  withered.     G. 

bafiger,  ber,  that  very.    G. 

barofe,  by  all  means.    H. 

berfonnen,  recognize.    G. 

berlangen  a  Stemm,  get  hold 
of.  G. 


bertwn  tnadjen,  pay  no  atten- 

tion.   G. 

£)ienfttnoib,  handmaid.     G. 
SDin,  custom,  law.    H. 
bingen,  haggle,  urge.    G. 
£)ire,  residence.    H. 
®orem,  South.    H. 
S)rtmntel,  light  sleep.    R. 
,  Judge.    E. 


©big,  eternal.     G. 

<$d,  end.     G. 

(£ebe§,  witnesses.    H. 

©eje,  advice.    H. 

effd)er,  perhaps.    H. 

ein|oren  fi(^,  listen  attentively. 

G. 

einf  jaMen  ftd^,  soak  in.  P. 
eintrinlen  fi(^,  drench.  G. 
(£lui,  sixth  month  in  the  Jewish 

calendar.    H. 
Gmte§,  truth.    H. 
emeSbtg,  real.    H. 
emeffer,  true.    H. 
©ntfer,  answer.     G. 
entfern,  answer.    G. 
entpledfen,  reveal.    G. 

,  somewhat,  somehow.   G. 

,  approximation.    H. 
@rett);fd)abe§,  Friday  evening. 

H. 
erge3,  somewhere.     G. 

,  lime.    H. 


,  flute, 
fanonberfingen  fid),  burst  out 

singing.     G. 
[ancmbertreten,  walk  along.   G. 
far,  for.    G. 

ftetfjen  fid),  endeavor.     G. 
fleijen,  flow  abundantly.     G. 
Q-ord)tigfeit,  awe.    G. 


no 


t^ornton,  foreman.    E. 
fort,  indeed,  I  pray.     G. 
ftrefe,  gluttony,  G. 
froeblidjbig,  merrily.    G. 

©aneeben,  paradise.    H. 
gffnejett,  yawn.     G. 
gantoenen,  steal.    If. 
@a§Ien,  murderer.     H. 
©bolim,  magnates.    H. 
gefinnen,  find.    G. 
©eljerei,  marching.    G. 
©elagerl,  couch.     G. 
©efdjanf,  present.     G. 
gefdjmacf,  sweet.    G. 
©eftttb,  family.     G. 
gettmlbetoen,  shout.    G. 
gidf),  quickly.     G. 
©tngolb,  pure  gold.     G. 
gletd),  as  if.     G. 
®ofc§,  exile.    If. 
©ojj,  downpouring.     G. 
©raul,  horror.     G. 
grett,  prepared.    G. 
©far,  decree  of  fate.    If. 
©'fegnenlieb,  song  of  parting. 

G. 

©fijfe,  death.     If. 
@uf,  body.    If. 
©lift,  taste.    P. 
g'toalbig,  terribly.     G. 
©mure,  strength.    If. 


,  seek  eagerly.    P. 
balbe  ftac*)t,  midnight.     G. 
£aletoefd)fe,  brand.    X. 
^ar-bafccfftm,  Olive  Mount.  H. 

,  killed  bodies.    H. 
,  abandoned.    H. 
,  to-day.     G. 
,  roam  wildly.    P. 
,  buzz.    ^7. 


3  —  t,both-and.    R. 
impct,  incitement.    Lot. 
3nben,  billows. 
anuim,  affliction.    //. 
itjtcr,  now.    G. 


,  chase.     G. 
3ttjle,  Let  there  rise  I    If.   Be- 

ginning  of  prayer  on  the 

eve  of  Atonement. 
3am,  ocean.     //. 
jcbercr,  every.    G. 
jebtoebe§,  everything.     G. 
Seffome,  orphan.    H. 
Seffurim,  pain.    //. 
3io>§,  pride.    //. 
3om:habin,  judgment  day.  H. 
jungcrheit,  in  youth.    G. 

flabefd),  prayer  for  the  dead 

(parents).     H. 
Rale,  bride.    //. 
flaltfeit,  coldness.     G. 
faltlitt},  cool.    G. 
tfanartf,  canary.    P. 
$a§,  anger.    //. 
«aul,  bullet.     G. 
Jfbufdje,  religious  fervor.    H. 
ffeetoer,  grave.    II. 
Fciflcn  fid),  roll.     G. 
fcnntig,  evidently.     G. 
fcffccbcr,  in  succession.     If. 
ficln,  tickle.     G. 

d)crf  cup  of  benedic- 

tion.   //.  *  G. 

wonc,  benediction  of 

the  moon.  //. 
ftntat,  almost.  //. 
tfine,  dirge  on  the  Day  of 

the    Destruction    of    the 

Temple.     //. 
Happen,  strike.    G. 


in 


Ilfiren,  think.    G. 

flecfett,  suffice.    G. 

fleibett  fid),  gather.    G. 

JHef  enter,  instruments  of  music. 

If. 

JHeSmotim,  musicians.    H. 
$littQeret,  ringing.    G. 
flottierft,  for  example.    H. 
JHole,  curse.    H. 
htacfen,  roar.     G. 
fnoW,  little.    G. 
fnetfdfjen,  wrinkle.    G. 
ftnoetel,  wick.    G. 
$0(f),  excitement.     G. 
,  strength.     H. 
l,  voice.    H. 

,  voices.    H. 
$or&en,  victim.    H. 
Jforeto,  relative.    H. 
fofrfjer,  ritually  pure.    H. 
80$,  cup.    H. 
floffe,  scythe.    R. 
$otoebr  honor.    H. 
Jhrci&e,  crow.    G. 
$rutoim,  cherubim.    If. 
Jhtcf,  glance.     G. 
lurfen,  look.    G. 
fufd&ett,  kiss.    G. 
$toeet,  flower.    SI. 
$toortm,  graves.    H. 

Saremett,  be  in  uproar.     G. 
Iafrf)ifd)enf  stroke  gently.    R. 
lafurtt,  azure.    R. 
leben,  near.    G. 
lejenen,  read.    F. 
lefotoeb,  in  honor  of.    H. 
Setoone,  moon.    H. 
Setooncn,  Lebanon.    H. 
Soeb,  lion.    G. 


,  army.    If. 
aRoie=S5'recfd)t§f  Genesis.    H. 
3Rafo($,  angel.    H. 
Ramjet,  bastard.     H. 
9Jlarrf)f  marrow.     G. 
SJiafel,  star,  luck.    H. 
9ftafole§,  stars,  destinies.    H. 
SJiajcetoe,  tombstone.    H. 
mecfjajebtg,  delightfully.    H. 
50lC(^iler  forgiveness.    H. 
SO'lcbinc,  realm.    H. 
9Jlccffitnf  dead  bodies.    H. 
5Rceh)inr  connoisseur.    H. 
9Utefiumef  consternation,    ff. 
9JJein,  opinion.     G. 
9Keitterr  miner.    E. 
tnefabefd)  fcin,  consecrate.    H. 
2Kcnf^enfd)fid^ter,   butcher   of 

men.     G.  &  If. 
3Kertbe,  sedition.    H. 
mefd^unc,  wonderfully.    H. 
2ttefe,  corpse.    H. 
tneften,  measure.    G. 

f  wilderness,    ff. 
c  war.    H. 


,  judgment.    H. 
3Jtt§ta$,  East.    H. 
tntStotnc,  no  doubt.    H. 
miSttmbe  fetn  fid),  confess.    H. 
2JHte=trfiger,  pall-bearer.     H. 

&G. 

,  chandelier.    ^. 
,  brain.    ^. 

,  moss.    R. 
tnojett,  whine. 
HJlorc,  fear,  terror,    ff. 
tttorebtg,  terribly,    ff. 
9Jlottc,  Mount  Moriah.    ff. 
5fttuf,  growl.    P. 
2ttumr  blemish.    ^1 
muntern,  vivify.    G. 


112 


9lad)ananb,  in  succession.    G. 
nafynt,  near.    G. 
nfiljnter,  nearer.     G. 
9latoenab,  wanderer.    H. 
9led)0tne,  consolation.    H. 
SRefefd),  creature.    H. 
9lefome,  revenge.    H. 
9letmn,  see  berlangen. 
Stefdjome,  soul.    H. 
9leffie,  wandering.    H. 
9ltgen,  melody.    H. 
nifd&fofdX    never   mind.      G. 

&  If.? 

9U30(f)enf  glory.    H. 
ftore,  hole.    R. 
nu,  well  !    R. 
nufen,  egg  on.    R. 

O  (ba§),  this  very  thing.     SI. 
Cfelad),  birdies.    H. 
oi,  woe!    R. 

on  (bort),  over  yonder.    SL 
Drcl=tome,  uncircumcised.    H. 
Otenf  coffin.    /f. 
Orenfobefd),  holy  ark.    H. 
ot  —  Ot,  now  —  now.     R. 
ot  tou  nit  IDU,  now  and  then. 
,  fortunes.    /T. 


,  herd.    R. 
«$aftud),  shepherd.    /?. 
^aftuf(^fer  shepherdess.    R. 
$|}ejferf  sleeper. 
^cnnilc,  little  penny.     E. 
Jrilbern,  cause  an  uproar.     G. 
pieften,  fondle.    />. 

,  suddenly.     G. 
,  riot.    R. 
53onim,  face.    H. 
^raje,  work.    P. 
prajcwcn,  toil.    P. 

fr  decision,  sentence.    /^. 


Quctten,  feel  pleased.    G. 


continually.    //. 
ranglcn,  wrestle.    G. 
Kebe,  teacher.    //. 
9icf  ue,    convalescence  ;    ju  —  , 

God  bless  you  I    //. 
roien  fid^t  swarm.    A'. 
DiofcQe,  evil  man.    //. 

Sncgcr,  clock.    G. 
Samb,  sand.    G. 
,  hush  t    A'. 

,  sabbath,    tf. 
,  proper.    //. 
©djameS,  beadle.    //. 
©d)apr  shop.    E. 

e,  neighbor.    //. 
f  Godhead.    //". 
ticS,  delay.    If. 

,  curser.     G. 
@(^ir,  limit.    If. 
©cfyire,  hymns.    If. 
(Sd)mccf,  fragrance.     G. 
f^mcden,  smell.    G. 
Sd)meid)cl,  smile.    C7. 
fd^mcid^Ien,  smile.    (7. 

,  twinkle.    (7. 
hour.    /T. 
6d)ofcr,  ram's-horn.    H. 
fd)od  Icn,  shake.     C7. 
©t^olem,  peace.    //. 
,  stir.    A*. 


wares.        . 
Sharon.    If. 
Sc^rcdcnife,  terror.     (7. 
St^ul,  synagogue.     G. 
fd)um,  fcin  —  ,  not  at  all.    H. 
Sd)»ttHd)ap,  sweat-shop.    G. 

&E. 
©djroorim,  third  blast  of  the 

ram's  horn. 
fee,  they.    G. 


fehten,  are.    G. 

feier,  very.    G. 

(Sent,  cent.    E. 

fetjen,  cut.    G. 

<5fire,  forty-nine  days  after 
second  day  of  Passover, 
during  which  no  festivities 
may  take  place.  H. 

©ilfulitn,  disgrace.    H. 

ffrudjen,  shudder.    P. 

(SlicfyeS,  prayer  preceding  the 
morning  prayer  on  the 
Sunday  preceding  the  New 
Year.  H. 

,  pOSt.      P. 

)erte,  saleswoman.    H. 
(Sofertore,  Scroll  of  the  Law.  H. 
@rore§,  oppressors.    H. 
€>fafone,  danger.    H, 
fjapJJCtt,  gasp.    P. 
€>feed()el,  reason.    H. 
©fine,  hatred.    H. 
©jenf,  branch.    P. 
(Sftmdje,  joy.    H. 
©job,  secret.    H. 
©fof,  end.    H. 
(Sfolotoet,  nightingale.    H. 
<5tabun,  onionstalk.    SI. 
ftom,  any  way.    H. 
ftattbig,  all  the  time.     G. 
fteflen  fid),  take  one's  part.    G. 
<5tefd)fe,  bypath.     R. 
<5trit,  street.    E. 
ftuppett  fid),  press  forward.    G. 
©tttfj,  nonsense.    H. 
fllbig,  boiling.     G. 
.©Ufa,  sob.     G. 
fuppen,  sip.    G. 
abode.    H. 


£a<J)rtrf)hnr  shrouds.    H. 
ine,  discussion.    H. 


tafe,  indeed.    R 

,  taste.    ^. 

,  father.    P. 
tftug,  is  good  for.     G. 
5ld)ine,  prayer.    ^". 
teetef,  exactly.    H. 
£etd),  river.     G. 
5£fila§=l)abered),  prayer  of  pas- 
sage.   H. 

,  prayer.    H. 
leont,  io2d  Psalm,  used 

as  a  prayer  in  sickness. 

H. 

Zftffe,  prison,    jy. 
X^Otn,  abyss.    H. 
Xiefenifc,  depth.    C. 
Steffeit,  depth.     G. 
%l\\tf  first  blast  of  the  ram's- 

horn.     H. 
5£ttuer  delay.    H. 
tome,  impure.    H. 
tor,  is  allowed.     G. 
Xorc,  Law.    ^. 
ttat^ten,  think.    G. 
Xrafir,  tear.     C. 
tretten,  trill.    G. 
trefd^tf^en,  crack.    R. 
5£rett)oge,  alarm.    R. 

,    second    blast    of    the 

ram's-horn.     H. 
,  corpse.    R. 
tuden,  submerge.     G. 
Slujtyeret,  tramping.     G. 
£tt)ilef  (ritual)  bath.    If. 

Uf  =  ouf . 

lltne,  nation.    H. 

umetig,  sad.    G. 

Umtufi,  unrest,  pendulum.    G. 

Utnfuft,  in  vain.     G. 

imteriimfen,  dive  under.    G. 


114 


SBar,  before.     G. 
tmrbetten,  invite.    G. 
toarbli^en,  flash.    G. 
Dard)6fd)ed)t,  wretched.    H. 
Darflieben,  fly  away.    G. 
twrglitoert,  stark. 
toariojfetnt,  orphaned.    H. 
tmrtlemmt,  oppressed.    G. 
twtfodjt,  absorbed.     G. 
fcarmattert,  exhausted.    G. 
toarmogen,  possess.    G. 
barmoren,  starve,    X. 
twrtnoften  fid),  threatened.    G. 
tmrnummen,  busy.    G. 
tmrnutjen,  use  up.    G. 
toarfdjolten,  cursed.    G. 
t>arfd)retbenf  secure.    G. 
toarfdj»a$t,  weakened.    G. 
Darfpiljt,  clearly  outlined.    G. 
tmrtijdtt,  occupied.     G. 
tmrtrad)t,  lost  in  thoughts.    G. 
toarumert,  saddened.    G. 
tmrtoenben,  use  up.    G. 
tmrtmegen,  rock  to  sleep.    G. 
t,  neglected.    G. 


2Bcilin!cf  little  while.    G. 
toetfeen,  know.    G. 
toemen,  to  whom.    G. 
toct'cn,  become,  will.     G. 
i,  confession.    H. 


mint  fid)  tnir,  I  want.    G. 
rotiMifl,  little.    G\ 
iliHjjel,  whistle.    .£. 
njojcn,  howl.    A', 
roolltcn,  would.    G. 

,  well-doing.     G. 
,  workshop.    E. 

beckoning.    G. 

Sabifim,  just.    H. 

rr,  anguish.    //. 
=  G.  bod).    R. 
ftcitentoeig,  at  times.    G. 
jitterbig,  trembling.    G. 
3ojfen,  North.    H. 
3ore§,  troubles.    H. 
ju  =  G.  jcr. 
ju,  whether.    P. 
judjtig,  dean.     G. 
jugliibt,  burning.    G. 
jutlcmmt,  oppressed.     G. 
juflemmterb? it,  with  oppressed 

heart    G. 

juflingen  fic^,  resound.    G. 
junaufrufen,  call  together.    G. 
3urc,  face.    H. 
jufprtngen  ftc^,  burst, 
jutrogen,  scatter.    G. 
jutDe^tdgt,  full  of  pain.     G. 
jutoorfcn,  scattered.    G. 
Qtoit,  bloom.    R. 


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1898  BY  THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS  CAM- 
BRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS 


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PJ  Rosenfeld,  Morris 

5129  Songs  from  the  ghetto 

R6A42 

1898 


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